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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  FIGHTER 


THE  FIGHTER 


BY 

ALBERT  PAYSON  /TERHUNE 


AUTHOR  OF— 

"CALEB  CONOVER,  RAILROADER,"  "DR.  BALE,** 
"THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  EVENTS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
ALBERT  PAYSON  TERHUNE 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


All  rights  reserved 


"\ 


tO  MY   KINDEST,   SEVEREST    CRITIC, 

MY  WIFE 

SO  MUCH  OF  THIS  BOOK  AS  MAY  BE  WORTHY  HER 
APPROVAL  IS 

DEDICATED 


156C004 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    CALEB  CONOVER  WINS .- .     .      9 

II.    THE  GIRL »:;««..    23 

III.  CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS     ......    „    w;    .     .    37 

IV.  CALEB  CONOVER  EXPLAINS      .     .     .    M    .,    ;.    ,.:    .     53 
V.    AN  INTERLUDE ,.;    ..     ..    ;.     .    63 

VI.  CALEB  CONOVER  RUNS  AWAY     .........    72 

VII.    THE  BATTLE 81 

VIII.    CALEB  CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART 100 

IX.    A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE 121 

X.    IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON 134 

XI.    A  PEACE  CONFERENCE „     ...  151 

XII.    INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND 161 

XIII.  MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES 185 

XIV.  CALEB  CONOVER  TAKES  AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  .     .     .196 
XV.    CALEB  CONOVER  LIES 209 

XVI.    DESIREE  MAKES  PLANS 224 

XVII.    THE  DUST  DAYS 233 

XVIII.  CALEB  CONOVER  GIVES  A  READING  LESSON     .     .     .  245 

XIX.      ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD 259 

XX.    CALEB  "OVERLOOKS  A  BET" 273 

XXI.    FOREST  MADNESS 286 

XXII.    CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS 321 

XXIII.  "THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST" 337 

XXIV.  THE  LAST  FIGHT 352 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

CALEB  CONOVER,  a  self-made  man  -who  glorifies  his  maker. 

AMZI  NICHOLAS  CAINE,  a  young  newspaper  owner  afflicted 
with  certain  ideas. 

JACK  HA  WARDEN,  a  youth  who  issues  drafts  on  future  liter 
ary  fame. 

REUBEN  STANDISH,  decayed  branch  of  a  once-mighty  family 
tree. 

BLACARDA,  an  exception  to  the  rule  concerning  honor  among 
financiers. 

SAUL,  a  derelict. 

CLIVE  STANDISH,  a  victim  of  "  home  rule." 

BILLY  SHEVLIN,  a  more  or  less  typical  small  boy. 

THE  REV.  MR.  GRANT,  a  minister  of  the  Gospel. 

DR.  BOND,  a  country  physician. 

STEVE  MARTIN,  an  Adirondack  guide. 

JOHN  HAWARDEN,  SR.,  -> 


FEATHERSTONE, 
VROOM, 


Pillars  of  the 
Arareek  Country  Club. 


DILLINGHAM, 
A  LOCOMOTIVE  ENGINEER. 
A  LOCOMOTIVE  FIREMAN. 
A  STATION  AGENT. 

DESIREE  SHEVLIN,  the  girl. 

LETTY  STANDISH,  the  other  girl. 

MRS.  STANDISH,.  whose  attitudes  are  all  beatitudes. 

MRS.  HAWARDEN,  a  chaperone  for  revenue  only 

SCENE:    The  City  of  Granite,  the  State  Capital,  Magdeburg- 
Village,  and  the  Adirondacks. 


THE    FIGHTER 

CHAPTER  I 

CALEB    CONOVER   WINS 

The  red-haired  man  was  fighting. 

He  had  always  been  fighting.  The  square  jaw, 
the  bull  neck  proclaimed  him  of  the  battling  breed; 
even  before  one  had  scope  to  note  the  alert,  light  eyes, 
the  tight  mouth,  the  short,  broad  hands  with  their 
stubby  strength  of  finger. 

In  prize  ring,  in  mediaeval  battle  field,  in  'long 
shore  tavern,  Caleb  Conover  would  have  slugged  his 
way  to  supremacy.  In  business  he  won  as  readily  — 
and  by  like  methods.  His  was  not  only  the  force 
but  also  the  supreme  craft  of  the  fighter.  Therefore 
he  was  president,  instead  of  bouncer,  in  the  offices 
of  the  C.  G.  &  X.  Railroad. 

It  was  not  railroad  business  that  engrossed  Con- 
over  as  he  sat  at  his  desk  one  day  in  early  spring; 
tearing  open  a  ceaseless  series  of  telegrams,  scrib 
bling  replies,  ringing  now  and  then  for  a  messenger 
to  whom  he  gave  a  curt  order. 

Telegrams  and  messages  ceased.  In  the  lull,  Con- 
over  jumped  to  his  feet  and  began  to  walk  back  and 

9 


io  THE  FIGHTER 

forth.  His  big  hands  were  clenched,  his  head  thrust 
forward,  his  whole  muscle-bound  body  tense. 

Then  began  a  violent  ringing  from  the  long  dis 
tance  telephone  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room. 
Conover  picked  up  the  receiver,  grunted  a  question, 
then  listened.  For  nearly  five  minutes  he  stood  thus, 
the  receiver  at  his  ear,  his  broad,  freckled  face  im 
passive  save  for  a  growing  fire  in  the  pale,  alert  eyes. 
A  grunt  of  dismissal  and  the  receiver  was  hung  on 
its  hook. 

Conover  crossed  the  room,  threw  himself  into  a 
big  creaking  chair,  cocked  his  feet  on  the  window 
sill,  drew  out  and  lighted  a  fat  cigar.  The  tenseness 
was  gone.  His  whole  heavy  body  was  relaxed.  He 
smoked  mechanically  and  let  his  gaze  rove  with  dull 
inertness  over  the  blank  wall  across  the  street.  He 
was  resting  as  hard  as  he  had  fought. 

A  clerk  timidly  opened  the  door  leading  from  the 
outer  offices. 

"  Mr.  Caine,  sir,"  ventured  the  employee,  "  He 
says  he — " 

"  Send  him  in,"  vouchsafed  Conover  without  turn 
ing  his  head. 

His  eyes  were  still  fixed  in  unseeing  comfort  on  the 
wall,  when  his  guest  entered.  Nor  did  he  shift  his 
glance  without  visible  reluctance.  The  newcomer 
seemingly  was  used  to  his  host's  lack  of  cordiality. 
For,  favoring  Conover  with  a  slight  nod,  he  deposited 
his  hat,  gloves  and  stick  on  the  table  and  lighted  a 
cigarette,  before  speaking. 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  11 

Conover  surveyed  the  well-groomed  figure  of  his 
visitor  with  an  air  of  disparaging  appraisal  that 
reached  its  climax  as  he  noted  the  cigarette. 

"  Here !  "  he  suggested,  "  Throw  away  that  paper 
link  between  fire  and  a  fool,  and  smoke  real  tobacco. 
Try  one  of  these  cigars  if  you  want  to.  They'll  fit 
your  mouth  a  lot  better.  Why  does  a  grown  man 
smoke  a — ?  " 

"  This  grown  man,"  replied  Caine,  unruffled,  "  has 
a  way  of  doing  what  he  chooses.  I  came  to  see  if 
you  were  ready  to  go  to  your  execution." 

"Execution,  eh?"  grinned  Conover.  "Well,  it's 
just  on  the  books  that  there  may  be  a  little  executin' 
done,  up  there.  But  /  won't  be  the  gent  with  his  head 
on  the  block.  Besides,  you're  an  hour  early." 

"  I  know  I  am.  It's  an  ideal  day  for  work.  So 
I  haven't  done  any.  I  left  the  office  ahead  of  time 
and  came  to  see  if  I  could  lure  you  into  a  walk  before 
we  go  to  the  Club.  You  don't  seem  much  worried 
over  the  outcome." 

"  Why  should  I  be  ?     I'll  win.     I  always  win." 

"  Conover,"  said  Caine,  observing  his  friend  with 
the  condescendingly  interested  air  of  a  visitor  at  the 
Zoo,  "  If  I  had  your  sublime  conceit  I'd  be  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  or  the  richest  man  in 
America,  or  some  other  such  odious  personage 
whose  shoes  we  all  secretly  fear  we  may  some  day 
fill." 

"President?  Richest  man?"  repeated  Conover, 
mildly  attracted  by  the  dual  idea.  "  Give  me  time 


12  THE  FIGHTER 

and  I'll  likely  be  both.  I've  made  a  little  start  on  the 
second  already,  to-day." 

"  Won  another  fight  ?  "  queried  Caine. 

"  Yes,  a  big  one.     The  biggest  yet,  by  far." 

"  Nothing  to  do  with  Steeloid,  I  suppose ! "  sug 
gested  the  visitor,  a  note  of  real  concern  peering 
through  his  customary  air  of  amused  calm. 

"  All  about  Steeloid,"  returned  Conover.  "  The  In 
dependent  Steeloid  Company  is  incorp' rated  at  last. 
Cap'talized  at — " 

"  The  Independent !  That  means  a  slump  in  our 
U.  S.  Steeloid!  You  call  that  winning  a  fight?  I 
thought  — " 

"  You'd  be  better  off,  Caine,  if  you'd  leave  the 
thinkin'  part  of  these  things  to  me.  Thinkin'  is  my 
game.  Not  yours.  You  talk  about  '  our '  U.  S. 
Steeloid.  You  seem  to  forget  I  swing  seventy-two  per 
cent,  of  the  stock  and  you  own  just  what  I  let  you  in 
on." 

"  Never  mind  all  that,"  interposed  Caine.  "  If  the 
Independents  are  banded  together,  they'll  make  things 
warm  for  us." 

"  Not  enough  to  cause  any  hurry  call  for  electric 
fans,  I  guess,"  chuckled  Conover.  "If  you'll  stop 
*  thinkin' '  a  minute  or  two  an'  listen  to  me,  I'll  try  to 
explain.  An'  maybe  I  can  hammer  into  your  head 
a  few  of  the  million  things  you  don't  know  about  fi 
nance.  Here's  the  idea.  I  built  up  the  Steeloid 
Trust,  didn't  I?  And  Blacarda  and  his  crowd  who 
had  been  running  a  bunch  of  measly  third-rate  Steel- 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  13 

oid  companies,  set  up  a  squeal  because  I  could  under 
sell  'em." 

"  Go  on,"  urged  Caine.  "  I  know  all  that.  You 
needn't  take  a  running  start  with  your  lesson  in  high 
finance.  We'll  take  it  for  granted  that  I  read  at  least 
the  newspaper  I  own  and  that  I  know  Blacarda  has 
been  trying  to  organize  the  independent  companies 
against  you.  What  next  ?  " 

"  Well,  they're  organized.  Only  Blacarda  didn't 
do  it.  A  high  souled  philanthropic  geezer  that  worked 
through  agents,  jumped  in  an'  combined  all  the  inde 
pendent  companies  against  us  an'  got  'em  to  give  him 
full  voting  power  on  all  their  stock.  Put  themselves 
into  his  hands  entirely,  you  see,  for  the  fight  against 
my  Steeloid  Trust.  Then  this  noble  hearted  trust 
buster  incorporated  the  Independents.  The  deal  went 
through  to-day.  I  got  final  word  on  it  just  now. 
The  Independents  are  organized.  The  votes  on  every 
share  of  their  stock  is  in  the  control  of  one  man." 

"But  he'll—" 

"  An'  that  *  one  man,' '  resumed  the  Fighter, 
"  happens  to  be  Caleb  Conover." 

"  But,"  gasped  the  dumbfounded  Caine,  "  I  don't 
understand." 

"  Caine,"  protested  Conover,  gently,  "  if  all  the 
things  you  don't  understand  about  finance  was  to  be 
placed  end  to  end  —  like  they  say  in  the  Sunday 
'  features  '  of  your  paper, —  they'd  reach  from  here 
to  Blacarda's  chances  of  swingin'  the  Independent 
Steeloid  Company.  An'  that's  a  long  sight  farther 


14  THE  FIGHTER 

than  twice  around  the  world.  What  I'm  gettin'  at  is 
this:  I  went  to  work  on  the  quiet  an'  formed  that 
Independent  Combine.  Then  I  gave  it  to  myself  as  a 
present.  It  is  now  part  of  my  U.  S.  Steeloid  Com 
pany.  Or  will  be  as  soon  as  I  can  strangle  the 
Legislature  kick  that  Blacarda's  sure  to  put  up." 

"  I  see  now,"  said  Caine,  slipping  back  into  his 
armor  of  habitual  calm,  "  and  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
you.  Conover,  you  missed  your  calling  when  you 
failed  to  go  into  the  safe  breaking  profession." 

"  There's  more  money  in  business,"  replied  Con- 
over  simply.  "  But  now  maybe  you  won't  lay  awake 
nights  worryin'  over  your  Steeloid  stock.  If  it  was 
worth  170  2-5  this  morning  it'll  be  quoted  at  250  be 
fore  the  month  is  out." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  aren't  afraid  of  this  after 
noon's  ordeal,"  observed  Caine,  "  But  Blacarda  is  on 
the  Board  of  Governors." 

"  So  are  you,  for  that  matter,"  said  Conover,  "  and 
I  guess  the  vote  of  the  man  who's  made  rich  by  Steel 
oid  will  pair  off  with  the  vote  of  the  man  who's  broke 
by  it." 

"  I  hope,"  corrected  Caine,  "  you  don't  think  it's 
because  of  my  Steeloid  holdings  that  I'm  backing 
you  in  this.  I  do  it  because  it  amuses  me  to  see  the 
gyrations  of  the  under  dog.  A  sporting  instinct,  I 
suppose." 

"If  you're  pickin'  me  for  the  under  dog," — began 
Conover,  but  broke  off  to  stare  in  disgust  at  the  other's 
upraised  hand. 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  15 

Caine  was  lifting  his  cigarette  to  his  lips.  Con- 
over  watched  the  lazily  graceful  gesture  with  more 
than  his  wonted  contempt. 

"  Say,  Caine,"  he  interrupted,  "  why  in  thunder  do 
you  make  your  nails  look  like  a  pink  skatin'  rink  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean,  why  do  I  have  them  manicured," 
answered  Caine,  coolly,  "  it  is  absolutely  none  of  your 
business." 

"  Now  I  s'pose  that's  what  you'd  call  a  snub," 
ruminated  Conover,  "  But  it  don't  answer  the  ques 
tion.  Pink  nails  all  shined  up  like  that  may  look  first 
rate  on  a  girl.  But  for  a  man  thirty  years  old  — 
with  a  mustache  —  Say,  why  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  wear  a  necktie  ?  "  countered  Caine, 
"  I  admit  it  is  a  surpassingly  ugly  one.  But  why 
wear  one  at  all?  It  doesn't  keep  you  warm.  It  has 
no  use." 

"  Clo'es  don't  make  a  man,"  stammered  Conover, 
rather  discomfited  at  the  riposte,  "  But  there's  no  use 
creatin'  a  disturbance  by  goin'  round  without  'em.  As 
for  my  necktie,  it  shows  I  ain't  a  day  laborer  for  one 
thing." 

"  Well-groomed  hands  are  just  as  certain  a  sign 
manual  of  another  sort,"  finished  Caine. 

"I  don't  quite  get  your  meanin'.     If — " 

"  As  a  failure  you  would  have  been  a  success,  Con- 
over,"  interrupted  Caine,  "  But  as  a  success  you  are  in 
some  ways  a  lamentable  failure.  To  paraphrase  your 
own  inspired  words,  if  all  the  things  you  don't  know 
about  social  usage  were  placed  end  to  end  — " 


16  THE  FIGHTER 

"  They'd  cover  a  mighty  long  list  of  measly  useles 
information.  What  do  /  care  for  such  rot  ?  " 

"  That's  what  you're  called  on  to  explain  this  after 
noon  before  the  Governors  of  the  Arareek  Countr 
Club,"  finished  Caine  rising.  "  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  stop  at  Desiree's  for  a  fe\ 
minutes,  first.  I  want  to  tell  her  about  my  winnir 
out  against  the  Blacarda  crowd.  She  knows  Blac 
arda." 

"Does  she  know  finance?" 

"  As  well  as  she  knows  Blacarda,  I  guess.  Ar 
neither  of  'em  enough  to  be  'specially  int'rested.  Bu 
she  likes  to  hear  about  things  I've  done.  I'll  jus 
drop  'round  there  on  my  way.  Join  you  later  at  th 
Club." 

"  I'll  walk  as  far  as  her  door  with  you,  if  you  like, 
suggested  Caine,  gathering  up  his  hat  and  stick 
"  Then  I'll  go  on  and  see  what  I  can  do  with  th 
Governors  before  the  meeting.  But  I  don't  lool 
forward  to  coercing  many  of  them  into  sanity.  The; 
bear  a  pitifully  strong  family  resemblance  to  the  lat 
lamented  Bourbons.  They  '  learn  nothing,  forge 
nothing'  and — " 

"  And  they  go  your  Bourbon  gang  one  better,3 
supplemented  Conover,  "  by  never  havin'  known  any 
thing  to  start  with.  Maybe  I  can  give  'em  an  idea  o 
two,  though,  before  we're  done.  I  used  to  boss  Dag< 
section  hands,  you  know." 

"  You'll  find  this  job  rather  more  difficult,  I  fancy 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  17 

'A  garlick-haloed  section  hand  is  a  lamb  compared 
to  some  of  our  hardshell  club  governors.  Why  do 
you  want  to  stay  in  the  Club,  anyhow?  It  seems  to 
me—" 

"  In  the  first  place  because  I  won't  quit.  Prov'- 
dence  loves  a  bulldog,  but  He  hates  a  quitter.  In  the 
second  place  I  want  to  feel  I've  as  much  right  in  that 
crowd  as  I  have  in  Kerrigan's  saloon.  I've  made  my 
way.  This  Steeloid  shuffle  ought  to  put  me  some 
where  in  the  million  class.  An'  there's  more  to  come. 
Lots  of  it.  I'm  a  railroad  pres'dent,  too.  The 
C.  G.  &  X.  is  a  punk  little  one-horse  railroad;  but 
some  day  I'll  make  it  cover  this  whole  State.  The 
road  was  on  it  last  legs  when  I  got  hold  of  it,  and  I'm 
making  it  what  I  choose  to.  Now,  as  a  man  with  all 
that  cash, —  and  a  railroad  president,  to  boot, —  why 
ain't  I  entitled  to  line  up  with  the  other  big  bugs  of 
Granite?  Tell  me  that.  They  don't  want  me,  may 
be?  Well,  I'll  make  'em  want  me,  before  I'm  done. 
Till  then,  they'll  take  me  whether  they  want  me  or 
not.  Ain't  that  sound  logic?" 

"  As  sound  as  a  dynamite  cartridge,"  laughed  Caine, 
"  You're  a  paradox !  No,  '  paradox  '  isn't  a  fighting 
word,  so  don't  scowl.  You  have  the  Midas-gift  of 
making  everything  you  touch  turn  to  solid  cash,  and 
making  two  dollars  grow  where  one  mortgage  blank 
formerly  bloomed.  You  have  the  secret  of  power. 
And,  with  it  all,  you  stoop  to  crawl  under  the  can 
vas  into  the  Social  Circus.  Feet  of  clay !  " 


i8  THE  FIGHTER 

Caleb  glanced  furtively  at  his  broad,  shining  boots, 
then,  disdaining  the  allusion  as  past  his  discernment, 
answered : 

"  It's  my  own  game  and  I  play  it  as  I  plan  to.  In 
one  year  from  now  you'll  see  folks  askin'  me  to  the 
same  houses  where  you've  been  invited  ever  since 
your  great  grandfather  held  down  the  job  of  '  First 
Land-owner '  here,  in  the  Revolution.  See  if  I 
don't." 

"  Did  you  ever  chance  to  read  Longfellow's  poem 
about  the  Rabbi  —  Ben  Levi  —  who  *  took  the  King 
dom  of  Heaven  by  violence?'"  queried  Caine. 

"  I  don't  read  rhymes.  Life's  too  short.  What 
happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  have  a  particularly  pleasant  time  of  it, 
as  I  remember.  In  fact,  I  believe  the  angels  joined  in 
a  symphonic  clamor  for  his  expulsion.  Not  unlike 
the  very  worthy  governors  of  the  Arareek  Country 
Club." 

"H'm!"  sniffed  Conover  in  high  contempt.  "If 
the  Rabbi  person  had  took  the  trouble  of  postin'  him 
self  on  those  angels'  pasts,  he  might  a'  got  front-row 
seat  in  the  choir  instead  of  bein'  throwed  out." 

"  So  that's  the  line  you're  going  to  take  with  the 
governors  ?  I'm  glad  I  decided  to  be  there.  It  ought 
to  prove  amusing.  But  you  don't  seem  to  realize 
that  even  if  you  win,  you  won't  be  exactly  beloved 
by  them,  in  future." 

"  I'm  not  expectin'  a  loving  cup  with  a  round-robin 
of  their  names  on  it.  Not  just  at  first,  anyhow.  So 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  19 

don't  waste  any  worry  on  me.  The  Club's  only  the 
first  step,  anyhow.  The  real  fun's  liable  to  come 
when  I  take  another." 

" Festina  lente!"  counseled  Caine,  "People  have 
a  way  of  forgetting  a  man  is  nouveau  riche  as  long 
as  he  remembers  it.  But  they  remember  it  as  soon  as 
he  forgets  it.  Is  it  discreet  to  ask  what  Miss  Shevlin 
thinks  of  all  this?  Is  she  in  sympathy  with  your 
social  antics  —  I  mean  '  ambitions  ?  ' 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  asked  her.  I  never 
thought  to.  But  if  I  did,  she'd  stand  for  it.  You 
see,  not  bein'  as  old  and  as  wise  as  some  of  the  Granite 
folks,  she's  fallen  into  the  habit  of  thinkin'  I'm  just 
about  all  right.  It's  kind  of  nice  to  have  some  one 
feel  that  way  about  you." 

•"  You  seem  to  return  the  compliment.  I  don't 
blame  you.  It  isn't  every  man  who  finds  himself 
guardian  to  an  exquisite  bit  of  animated  Sevres  china. 
I'm  lying  back  to  watch  for  the  time  when  some 
scared  youth  comes  to  ask  your  leave  to  marry  her." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  snarled  Conover,  stopping  and 
glowering  up  at  the  tall,  clean-cut  figure  at  his  side. 

"  Don't  get  excited,"  laughed  Caine.  "  You  can't 
expect  as  lovely  and  lovable  a  girl  as  Desiree  Shevlin 
to  live  and  die  an  old  maid.  If  you're  so  opposed  to 
this  imaginary  suitor  I've  conjured  up,  why  not  marry 
her  yourself?  " 

"Marry?  That  kid?  Me?"  sputtered  Conover, 
"  Why  I'm  past  thirty  an' —  an'  she  ain't  twenty  yet. 
Besides  I'm  a  daddy  to  her.  If  I  hear  of  you  or  any- 


20  THE  FIGHTER 

one  else  queerin'  that  kid's  fondness  for  me  by  any 
such  fool  talk,  I'll—" 

"  Her  father  was  wise  in  appointing  you  her  guard 
ian,"  mocked  Caine.  "  In  the  absence  of  man-eating 
blood-hounds  or  a  regiment  of  cavalry,  you're  an  ideal 
Dragon.  I  remember  old  Shevlin.  A  first  rate  con 
tractor  and  ward  politician;  but  the  last  sort  of  man 
to  have  such  a  daughter.  As  for  Billy,  now  —  he's 
the  model  of  his  father.  A  tougher  little  chap  and  a 
greater  contrast  to  his  sister  could  hardly  be  im 
agined." 

"  She  takes  after  her  mother,"  explained  Conover, 
puffing  mightily  at  a  recalcitrant  cigar ;  "  Mother 
was  French.  Came  of  good  people,  I  hear.  Named 
her  girl  Desiree.  French  name.  Kind  of  pretty 
name,  too.  Died  when  Billy  was  born.  I  s'pose 
that's  why  the  boy  was  named  for  his  dad,  instead  of 
being  called  Pe-air  or  Juseppy  or  some  other  furren 
trademark.  That's  why  he's  tough  too.  Desiree  was 
brought  up.  Billy's  bringing  himself  up.  Same  as  I 
did.  It's  the  best  trainin'  a  boy  can  have.  So  I  let 
him  go  his  own  gait,  an'  I  pay  for  the  windows  he 
smashes." 

"  How  did  Old  Man  Shevlin  happen  to  leave  you 
guardian  of  the  two  children?  Hadn't  he  any  rela 
tives  ?  " 

"  None  but  the  aunt  the  kids  live  with.  I  s'pose 
he  liked  me  an'  thought  I'd  give  the  girl  a  fair  show. 
An'  I  have.  Convent  school,  music  an'  furren  lingoes 
an'  all  that  rot.  An'  she's  worth  it." 


CALEB  CONOVER  WINS  21 

"How  about  Billy?" 

"  That's  no  concern  of  mine.  He  gets  his  clothes 
an'  grub  an'  goes  to  public  school.  It'll  all  any  boy's 
got  a  right  to  ask." 

"  Contractors  are  like  plumbers  in  being  rich  past 
all  dreams  of  avarice,  aren't  they?  One  always  gets 
that  idea.  The  Shevlins  will  probably  be  as  rich  as 
cream  — " 

"  They'll  have  what  they  need,"  vouchsafed  Con- 
over. 

"  Then  you're  doing  all  this  on  the  money  that 
Shevlinleft?" 

"  Sure !  You  don't  s'pose  I'd  waste  my  own  cash 
on  'em?" 

"  What  a  clumsy  liar  you  are ! "  observed  Caine 
admiringly.  "  There !  There !  In  this  case  '  liar  ' 
is  no  more  a  fighting  word  than  '  paradox.'  Don't 
get  red." 

"What  are  you  drivin'  at?"  demanded  Conover. 

"  Only  this :  The  wills  and  some  other  documents 
filed  at  the  Hall  of  Records,  are  copied  by  our  men 
and  kept  on  file  in  our  office.  I  happened  to  be  going 
over  one  of  the  books  the  other  day  and  I  ran  across 
a  copy  of  old  Shevlin's  will.  There  was  a  Certificate 
of  Effects  with  it.  He  left  just  $1,100,  or,  to  be  ac 
curate,  $1,098.73." 

"Well?"  challenged  Conover. 

"Well,"  echoed  Caine,  "The  rent  of  the  house 
where  Miss  Shevlin  lives,  her  two  servants,  and  her 
food  must  come  to  several  times  that  sum  each  vear. 


22  THE  FIGHTER 

To  say  nothing  of  the  expenses  and  the  support  of  the 
aunt,  who  lives  with  her.  None  of  those  are  on  the 
free  list.  You're  an  awfully  white  chap,  Conover. 
You  went  up  about  fifty  points  in  my  admiration  when 
I  read  that  will.  Now  don't  look  as  if  I'd  caught 
you  stealing  sheep.  It's  no  affair  of  mine.  And  as 
she  doesn't  seem  to  know,  I'm  not  going  to  be  the 
cheerful  idiot  to  point  out  to  her  the  resemblance  be 
tween  her  father's  $1,100  and  the  Widow's  Cruse. 
It's  pleasure  enough  to  me,  as  a  student  of  my  fellow 
animals,  to  know  that  a  pirate  like  you  can  really  once 
in  your  life  give  something  for  nothing.  There's  the 
house.  Don't  forget  you're  due  at  the  Club  in  fifty 
minutes." 

Conover,  red,  confused,  angry,  mumbled  a  word  of 
good-bye  and  ran  up  the  steps  of  a  pretty  cottage  that 
stood  in  its  own  grounds  just  off  the  street  they  were 
traversing. 

Caine  watched  the  Fighter's  bulky  form  vanish 
within  the  doorway.  Then  he  lighted  a  fresh  ciga 
rette  and  strolled  on. 

"I  wonder,"  he  ruminated,  "what  his  growing  list 
of  financial  victims  would  say  if  they  knew  that  Brute 
Conover  worships  as  ideally  and  reverently  as  a  Gal 
ahad  at  the  shrine  of  a  little  flower-faced  nineteen-year 
old  girl?  But,"  he  added,  in  dismissing  the  quaint 
theme,  "  no  one  of  them  all  would  be  half  so  surprised 
to  know  it  as  Conover  himself ! " 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GIRL 

Conover  lounged  back  and  forth  in  the  pretty  little 
reception  room  of  Desiree  Shevlin's  house,  halting 
now  and  then  to  glance  with  puzzled  approval  at  some 
item  of  its  furnishings.  The  room  —  the  whole  house 
—  was  to  him  a  mystery.  Contentedly  devoid  of 
taste  though  he  was,  the  man  dimly  realized  the  charm 
of  the  place  and  the  dainty  perfection  of  its  appoint 
ment.  That  Desiree  had  accomplished  this  in  no  way 
astonished  him.  For  he  believed  her  quite  capable 
of  any  minor  miracle.  But  in  it  all  he  took  a  pride 
that  had  voiced  itself  once  in  the  comment : 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  make  a  room  look  so 
nice  without  a  single  tidy  or  even  a  bow  fastened  up 
anywhere.  But  why  did  you  get  those  dull  old  tiles 
for  your  mantel?  I  wouldn't  a'  kicked  at  payin'  for 
the  best  marble." 

To-day,  Conover  gave  less  than  usual  homage  to 
the  apartment.  He  was  agog  to  tell  its  owner  his 
wonderful  tidings,  and  he  chafed  at  her  delay  in  ap 
pearing.  At  last  she  came  —  the  one  person  on  earth 
who  could  have  kept  Caleb  Conover  waiting;  without 
paying,  by  sharp  reproof,  for  the  delay. 

"  I'm   sorry   I   was   so   long,"    she   began   as    she 

23 


24  THE  FIGHTER 

brushed  the  curtains  aside  and  hurried  in,  "  But  Billy 
and  I  couldn't  agree  on  the  joys  of  tubbing.  I'd  hate 
to  hate  anything  as  much  as  he  hates  his  bath.  Now 
you've  had  some  good  luck!  Glorious,  scrumptious 
good  luck!  I  can  tell  by  the  way  your  mustache  is 
all  chewed.  You  only  chew  it  when  you're  excited. 
And  you  are  only  excited  when  something  good  has 
happened.  Isn't  it  clever  of  me  to  know  that?  I 
ought  to  write  it  up :  '  Facial  Fur  as  a  Bliss  Barom 
eter.'  How  —  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  silly  when 
you're  bursting  with  news.  Please  be  good  and  tell 
me.  Is  it  anything  about  Steeloid  ?  " 

"  It's  all  about  Steeloid,"  he  answered.  "  I've  won 
out  —  I've  made  my  pile." 

She  caught  both  his  hands  in  hers,  with  a  gesture 
almost  awkward  in  its  happy  impulsiveness. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  So  glad!"  she  cried.  "Tell 
me!" 

Boyishly,  bluntly,  eagerly,  Conover  repeated  his 
story. 

His  florid  face  was  alight,  enthusiasm  wellnigh 
choking  him.  She  heard  him  out  with  an  excitement 
almost  as  great  as  his  own.  As  he  finished  she 
clapped  her  hands  with  a  little  laugh  of  utter  delight. 

"  Oh,  splendid ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  No  one  but 
you  would  ever  have  thought  of  it.  It's — "  her 
flush  of  pleasure  yielding  momentarily  to  a  look 
of  troubled  query  — "  It's  perfectly  —  honest,  of 
course?  " 

"  It's  business,"  he  replied. 


THE  GIRL  25 

"  That's  the  same  thing,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  much 
relieved,  "And  you're  rich?" 

"  A  million  anyway.     And  you'll — " 

"  Hell! " 

Both  turned  at  the  wonder-inspired,  sulphurous 
monosyllable.  Desiree  jerked  the  curtain  aside,  re 
vealing  a  stocky  small  boy,  very  red  of  face.  He  was 
clutching  a  blue  bath  robe  about  him  and  had  no  ap 
parent  aim  in  life  save  to  escape  from  the  situation 
into  which  his  involuntary  expletive  had  betrayed 
him. 

"  Now  don't  go  callin'  me  down,  Dey,"  he  pleaded. 
"  I  just  happened  to  be  going  past  —  I  was  on  the 
way  to  take  my  bath,  all  right  —  on  the  level  I  was  — 
an*  I  heard  Mr.  Conover  say  about  havin'  a  million. 
An' — an' — I  spoke  without  thinkin'." 

He  had  been  edging  toward  the  stair-foot  as  he 
talked.  Now,  finding  the  lower  step  behind  him,  he 
fled  upward  on  pattering  desperate  feet. 

"  Poor  Billy !  "  laughed  Desiree,  "  He's  an  awfully 
good  little  chap.  But  he  will  listen.  I  can't  break 
him  of  it." 

"  Maybe  /  could,"  hazarded  Conover. 

"  You'd  break  his  neck  and  his  heart  at  the  same* 
time.  Leave  him  to  me.  Nothing  but  kindness  does 
any  good  where  he  is  concerned." 

"  Ever  try  a  bale-stick  ?  "  suggested  Caleb. 

"  That  will  do !  "  she  reproved.  "  Now,  I  want 
to  hear  more  about  Steeloid.  Poor  Mr.  Blacarda! 
It's  pretty  hagorous  for  him,  isn't  it  ?  " 


26  THE  FIGHTER 

"  If  '  hagorous '  means  he's  got  it  in  the  neck,  it 
is." 

"  '  Hagorous  '  "  explained  Desiree,  loftily,  "  means 
anything  horrid.  I  know,  because  I  made  it  up.  It's 
such  a  comfort  to  make  up  words.  Because  then,  you 
see,  you  can  give  them  meanings  as  you  go  along.  It 
saves  a  lot  of  bother.  Did  you  ever  try  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Conover,  apologetically.  "  I'm  afraid 
I  never  did.  Maybe  I  could,  though,  if  it'd  make  a 
hit  with  you.  But  you  were  talkin'  about  Blacarda. 
You  ain't  wastin'  sympathy  on  him,  are  you?" 

"  I'm  sorry  for  anyone  that  gets  the  worst  of  it. 
But—" 

"  But  no  sorrier  for  Blacarda  than  you  would  be 
for  anybody  else  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     Why?" 

"  He  comes  here  a  lot.  Twice  I've  met  him  here. 
Is  he  stuck  on  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is." 

"  I  guess  most  people  are,"  sighed  Caleb.  "  I  don't 
blame  him;  so  long  as  you  don't  care  about  him. 
You  don't,  do  you  ?  "  he  finished  anxiously. 

"  He's  very  handsome,"  she  observed  demurely. 

"Is  he?" 

"  Well  —  pretty  handsome." 

"Is  he?" 

"  He's  —  I've  heard  girls  say  so." 

"  H'm !  Nice  crimson  lips,  red  cheeks,  oily  curled 
hair  and  eyes  like  a  couple  of  ginger  snaps ! " 

"  No,"    corrected   Desiree,    judicially,    "  More    like 


THE  GIRL  27 

chocolate  pies.  There's  something  very  sweet  and 
melting  about  them.  And,  besides,  you  mustn't  run 
him  down.  He's  very  nice  to  me.  Last  night  he 
asked  me  to  marry  him.  What  do  you  think  of  that? 
Honestly,  he  did." 

"  The  measly  he-doll !  I  wish  I'd  broke  him  a 
year  ago  instead  of  waiting  for  the  Steeloid  scrap. 
What'd  you  say  when  he  asked  you  ?  " 

"  Your  face  gets  such  a  curious  shade  of  magenta 
when  you  are  angry,  Caleb,"  mused  Desiree,  observ 
ing  him  critically,  her  head  on  one  side.  "  But  it 
doesn't  match  your  hair  a  little  bit.  There,  I  didn't 
mean  to  tease  you.  Yes,  I  did  mean  it,  too,  but  I'm 
sorry.  I  told  him  I  couldn't  marry  him,  of  course." 

"Good  work!"  approved  Caleb,  "What'd  he  say 
then?" 

"He  —  he  asked  if  I'd  try  and  look  on  him  as  a 
brother  — *  a  dear  brother,'  and  — " 

She  broke  off  with  a  reminiscent  laugh. 

"Well,  what  did  you  say?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  was  a  little  rude.  But  I  didn't  mean 
to  be.  I'd  heard  a  smothered  giggle  from  over  in 
the  corner.  So  I  told  him  if  I'd  really  had  any  use 
for  a  brother  —  a  '  dear  brother,' —  I  could  reach  right 
behind  the  divan  and  get  one.  He  stalked  over  to  the 
divan.  And  sure  enough  there,  behind  the  cushions, 
was  Billy,  all  wudged  up  in  a  little  heap.  He  — " 

"All  —  what?"  asked  the  perplexed  Conover, 
pausing  in  the  midst  of  a  Homeric  guffaw. 

"  '  Wudged.'     All  wudged  up  —  like  this  — "  crum- 


28  THE  FIGHTER 

pling  her  ten  fingers  into  a  white,  compact  little  bunch. 
"  Mr.  Blacarda  was  very  angry.  He  went  away." 

She  joined  for  an  instant  in  Conover's  laughter ; 
then  checked  herself  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot. 

"  Stop !  "  she  ordered.  "  I'm  a  little  beast  to  behave 
so.  He  —  cared  for  me.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him.  There  ought  to  be  something  sacred  in  all  that. 
And  here  I  am  making  fun  of  him.  Caleb,  please  say 
something  to  make  me  more  ashamed." 

"  You're  all  right,  girl !  "  chuckled  Caleb  in  huge 
delight.  "  Poor  pink-an'-white  Blacarda !  You 
were  — " 

"  I  wasn't !  I  ought  to  be  whipped  for  telling  you. 
But  —  but  somehow,  I  seem  to  tell  you  everything. 
Honestly,  I  wouldn't  tell  anyone  else.  Honestly! 
You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  you're  the  whitest,  brightest,  jolliest  kid 
that  ever  happened,"  returned  Conover,  "but  you 
needn't  bother  about  Blacarda.  I  won't  tell.  Now 
I've  got  to  get  out." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  take  me  for  a  -walk  or  a  drive 
or  anything?  It's  such  a  gorgeous  day,  and  it's  so 
early.  Almost  as  early  as  it  ever  gets  to  be." 

"  I  can't,  worse  luck !  "  said  he.  "  I've  got  a  measly 
appointment  at  the  Arareek.  An'  besides  —  say,  lit 
tle  girl,  I  don't  know  about  walking  or  driving  with 
you  any  more." 

"Caleb!" 

"  Listen,  till  I  explain.  Now  that  Mrs.  I  lawarden's 
took  such  a  fancy  to  you  an'  took  you  up  an' 


THE  GIRL  29 

chap'roned  you  to  places  where  I'd  be  chased  out  with 
a  broom  —  an'  all  that  —  well,  you  get  invited  to  big 
folks'  houses.  That's  how  you  met  Blacarda,  wasn't 
it  ?  He  travels  with  the  gold-shirt  crowd.  Now,  that 
crowd  don't  care  about  me.  They  will,  some  day. 
But  they  don't,  yet.  An'  if  you're  seen  around  with  a 
rank  outsider  like  me  —  it'll  —  it  may  kind  of  make 
'em  think  you're  the  same  sort  I  am.  An'  that'll  be 
liable  to  queer  you  with  'em.  An — " 

"  Caleb  Conover!" 

He  stopped,  thoroughly  uncomfortable,  yet  vaguely 
glad  of  having  eased  his  mind  of  its  worry  for  her 
prospects.  She  was  frowning  up  at  him  with  all  the 
menacing  ferocity  of  an  Angora  kitten. 

"  Caleb  Conover ! "  she  repeated,  in  stern  rebuke. 
"Aren't  you  ashamed?  Aren't  you  ashamed ?  Say 
you  are !  Now  go  and  stand  in  the  corner.  If  I  ever 
hear  you  talk  that  way  about  yourself  again  —  why 
Caleb!  We're  chums,  you  and  I.  Don't  you  know 
that  I'd  rather  have  you  than  all  those  people  put  to 
gether?  Now  talk  very  fast  about  something  else, 
or  I  won't  get  my  temper  back  again.  What's  your 
appointment  about  ?  " 

"At  the  Arareek?"  he  asked,  falling  in,  as  ever, 
with  her  lightning  change  of  mood.  "  Oh,  nothing 
much.  It's  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Governors. 
There's  a  man  in  the  Club  who  got  in  by  influence,  be 
fore  they  realized  just  what  sort  of  a  punk  feller  he 
was.  An'  now  they've  called  a  meeting  to  see  about 
kickin'  him  out.  There's  to  be  a  vote  on  it.  An'  he's 


30  THE  FIGHTER 

to  appear  before  'em  to-day  to  defend  himself.  Not 
quite  reg'lar  in  Club  by-laws,  Caine  tells  me.  But 
that's  what's  to  be  done.  They  say :  '  his  business 
methods  bring  disrepoote  on  the  Club.'  That's  the 
sp'cific  charge  I  b'lieve." 

"  But  what  have  you  got  to  do  with  all  that  ?" 

"  Nothin' —  Except  I'm  the  shrinkin'  victim." 

"You!     Is  it  —  a  joke?" 

"  Not  on  me.  I'll  fix  it  all  right.  Don't  you  worry 
now.  I  wouldn't  a*  told  you  about  it  if  I  hadn't 
known  I'd  win  out." 

"  You're  sure?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.  What  chance  has  that  bunch  of 
mutton-heads  against  anyone  with  man's  size  brains  in 
his  skull?  Sure,  I'll  win.  Now,  don't  look  like  that, 
Dey.  It  breaks  me  all  up  to  have  you  blue.  I  tell 
you  it'll  be  all  right." 

"  Who  are  the  Governors  ?  " 

"  Your  friend  Blacarda  is  one." 

"Oh!     That's  bad." 

"  Only  counts  one  vote.  And  Caine's  another. 
He's  on  my  side.  He  has  more  pull  with  those  people 
than  Blacarda." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  and  Mr.  Caine  are  such  friends. 
There  never  were  two  other  men  as  different." 

"  He  owns  the  biggest  noospaper  in  Granite,  an'  he 
belongs  to  one  of  the  top-notch  families.  So  he's  a 
power  in  his  own  way,  for  all  he's  such  an  odd  fish. 
*  Eccentric '  they  call  it,  don't  they  ?  Why  do  we 


THE  GIRL  31 

travel  together  ?  That  lazy  don't-care  way  of  his  and 
his  trick  of  twistin'  sentences  upsidedown  an'  then 
callin'  'em  '  epigrams  '  is  kind  of  amoosin'.  Besides, 
he's  of  use  to  me.  That  explains  my  side  of  it.  I'm 
of  use  to  him.  That  explains  his.  He'll  more'n  off 
set  Blacarda." 

"Who  are  the  rest?" 

"  Hawarden's  one.  Husband  of  your  chap' rone 
friend." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I'd  known !     I'd  have  asked  her  to  — " 

"  I  don't  think  it's  nec'ssary,"  evaded  Caleb. 
"  He'll  be  all  right,  I  guess." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  knew  him." 

"No  more  I  do.  But  I've  an  idea  he'll  vote  for 
me." 

"  Just  the  same  I  wish  I'd  asked  Mrs.  Hawarden  to 
make  him  do  it.  She's  been  so  nice  to  me,  I'm  sure 
she'd  have  done  me  one  more  favor." 

"  Nice  to  you,  is  she  ?     Reelly  nice  ?  " 

"  She's  a  dear.  Just  think  of  a  woman  in  her  posi 
tion  hunting  me  out  and  making  friends  with  me  and 
asking  me  all  the  time  to  her  house  and  introducing  me 
to  people  who  wouldn't  otherwise  have  even  poked  me 
with  a  silver  handled  umbrella!  Nice?  I  should 
think  she  was." 

'  Yes,"  drawled  Conover,  solemnly,  "  I  guess  she 
must  be.  Old  Reuben  Standish  is  one  of  the  Gov 
ernors,  too.  Know  him?  President  of  the  Aaron 
Burr  Bank.  Big  society  bug,  tradin'  on  fam'ly  that's 


32  THE  FIGHTER 

dead  an'  fortune  that's  dribbled  through  his  fingers. 
Sort  of  man  that's  so  stiff  he  never  unbends  till  he's 
broke." 

"  I  think  I've  met  him,"  reflected  Desiree.  "  Does 
n't  he  look  just  a  little  like  a  rail?  Gray  and  long  and 
mossy  —  with  a  sort  of  home-made  face?  And  one 
eye  that  toes  in  just  a  little  ?  " 

"  That's  the  man,"  grinned  Caleb  in  high  approval. 
"  There's  two  kinds  of  financiers :  the  thick-necked,  red 
faced  kind,  with  chests  that  have  slipped  down ;  —  an' 
the  cold  gray  kind.  Gray  hair,  gray  eyes,  gray  skin, 
gray  clothes  an'  gray  mustache.  Gray  souls,  too. 
That  sort  never  take  on  weight.  An'  there's  just 
enough  humanness  in  their  faces  to  put  you  in  mind 
of  the  North  Pole.  Thank  the  Lord,  I'm  one  of  the 
thick,  red  breed !  " 

"Do  you  mean  all  over  or.  just  your  head?"  que 
ried  Desiree  innocently,  as  she  glanced  at  his  stiff, 
carroty  hair.  "  Oh,  it's  awfully  nice  of  you  to  laugh 
at  my  poor  little  jokes.  I  wonder  what  you'd  do  if 
you  ever  met  a  really  clever  woman  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  I'd  begin  figurin'  out  how  stupid  she'd 
frame  up  alongside  of  you,"  he  answered  simply. 
"  You  see,  I  — " 

"  You  were  talking  about  Mr.  Standish.  Is  he  go 
ing  to  vote  for  you  ?  " 

"  As  I  lent  his  bank  $96,000  last  year  when  it  was 
shaky  from  a  run,  I  guess  he  is.  Not  that  he's  over- 
grateful.  But  his  bank's  in  a  bad  way  again  and  he's 
li'ble  to  need  me." 


THE  GIRL  33 

"  So  you  are  going  to  discount  his  future  grati 
tude?" 

"  Just  so.  He  needs  me.  An' —  I  need  him.  Not 
only  for  to-day,  but  for  a  plan  I've  been  thinkin'  over." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you  with  him.  I've  met  his 
daughter,  Letty,  once  or  twice.  They  say  she's  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  Caine.  Mrs.  Hawarden  tells  me  they've 
been  in  love  with  each  other  ever  since  she  stopped 
playing  with  dolls.  I  should  have  hated  to  give  up 
dolls  just  in  exchange  for  Mr.  Caine.  Are  there  any 
more  Governors?  " 

"  A  few.  None  that  you  know.  I  must  be  off. 
Now,  remember,  you  aren't  to  worry.  It's  all  right. 
I  wouldn't  bother  to  keep  in  the  Club  if  it  was  like 
most  places  of  that  kind.  But  it  isn't.  The  Ara- 
reek's  an  institootion  in  Granite.  If  you  ain't  in  it, 
you're  nobody.  An'  at  Ladies'  Days  an'  times  like 
that,  the  Big  people  always  show  up.  It's  a  good 
thing  to  belong.  Besides,  a  feller  gets  lots  of  new 
experience  by  joinin'  a  country  club.  F'r  instance,  I 
never  knew  what  reel  lonesoneness  was  till  I  went  to  a 
few  of  their  Ladies'  Days  an'  Field  Days.  I  might 
as  well  a'  been  on  a  desert  island." 

:<  You  poor  boy !  It's  a  burning  shame !  Why  do 
you—?" 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  always  goin'  to  be  like  that.  Don't  be 
sorry  about  it.  I'll  whip  'em  into  shape  before  I'm 
done." 

The  soaring,  clear  song  of  a  canary  broke  in  on  his 
boast.  Beginning  with  a  faint,  barely  audible  trill,  it 


34  THE  FIGHTER 

rose  in  a  glorious  piercing  crescendo  of  melody ;  hung, 
vibrated,  scaled  a  whole  octave,  then  ceased  as 
abruptly  as  it  had  begun. 

Caleb  turned  toward  the  window  between  whose 
curtains  swung  a  cage.  The  occupant,  a  ball  of  golden 
fluff,  barred  with  gray-green,  hopped  self -importantly 
from  perch  to  perch,  nervously  delighted  with  the 
man's  scrutiny. 

"  Hello !  "  said  Conover.  "  When'd  you  get  that  ? 
I  never  saw  him  before." 

"  He  came  yesterday,"  explained  Desiree.  "  Isn't 
he  a  little  darling?  Jack  Hawarden  sent  him  to  me." 

"  That  kid  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  he's  stuck  on 
you,  too?  Why  he's  barely  twenty-one  an'  he  can't 
earn  his  own  livin'." 

"  It's  a  real  pleasure,  Caleb,  to  hear  your  fulsome 
praise  of  the  men  I  happen  to  know.  First  Mr.  Bla- 
carda,  and  now  — " 

"  That's  what's  called  '  sarcasm,'  ain't  it  ?  "  asked 
Conover.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  rile  you.  I  guess  young 
Hawarden's  all  right, —  as  far's  college  let  him  learn 
to  be.  What's  the  bird's  name  ?  Or  don't  birds  have 
names  ?  " 

"  Why?  Had  you  thought  of  one  for  him?  How 
would  'Steeloid'  do?" 

Caleb's  grin  of  genuine  delight  at  the  suggestion 
made  her  add  quickly  with  more  tact  than  truth : 

"  I  wish  I'd  thought  of  that  before.  How  silly  of 
me  not  to !  For,  you  see  he's  already  named  now." 


THE  GIRL  35 

"Oh,  he  is,  hey?"  said  the  discomfited  Conover. 
"  Who  named  him  ?  Hawarden  ?  " 

"  No.  Billy  and  I.  His  name's  Siegfried 
Mickey." 

"  What  a  crazy  name  for  a  — ! " 

"Yes,  isn't  it?  That's  why  I  like  it  so.  Billy 
wanted  to  call  him  '  Mickey  '  after  the  bulldog  he  used 
to  have.  And  /  wanted  to  call  him  Siegfried.  So  we 
compromised  on  Siegfried  Mickey.  He's  a  dear.  He 
knows  his  name  already.  Don't  you,  Siegfried 
Mickey?" 

The  bird,  thus  adjured,  maintained  a  severely  non 
committal  dumbness. 

"  See !  "  triumphed  Desiree,  "  Silence  gives  assent. 
He's  a  heavenly  little  singer.  Why,  only  this  morn 
ing,  he  sang  nearly  all  the  first  bar  of  '  The  Death  of 
Ase'." 

"The  which?" 

"  '  The  Death  of  Ase!  In  the  Peer  Gynt  suite,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  yes!  Of  course.  Sure!"  mumbled  Caleb 
hastily.  "  I  was  thinkin'  of  some  other  feller's  suite. 
An'  he  sang  that,  did  he  ?  The  clever  little  cuss !  " 

"  Wasn't  he,  though  ?  And  he'd  only  heard  me 
play  it  once."' 

"  Pretty  hard  thing  to  sing,  too !  "  supplemented 
Caleb,  wisely. 

"  Caleb  Conover,"  she  rebuked  in  cold  admonition, 
"  Look  at  me!  No,  in  the  eyes!  There!  Now,  how 


36  THE  FIGHTER 

often  have  I  told  you  not  to  make  believe?  You  treat 
me  just  as  if  I  was  a  child.  Why  do  you  pretend  to 
know  about  '  The  Death  of  Ase'  you  dear  old  simple 
humbug?  Don't  you  know  I  always  find  you  out 
when  you — ?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  you  to  think  I  wasn't  up  on  the 
things  that  int'rest  you,  girl,"  he  pleaded.  "  It's  rot 
ten  to  feel  you've  got  to  talk  down  to  me  every  time 
you  speak  about  music  or  litterchoor  or  those  things. 
An' —  Lord !  but  I  do  hate  to  let  on  when  I  don't  un 
derstand  things." 

"  You  understand  more  of  the  real  things  — the 
things  that  are  worth  while  —  than  any  other  man 
alive,"  she  protested.  "  Now  say  goodbye  and  run 
on,  or  you'll  be  late.  Don't  forget  to  stop  on  the  way 
back  and  let  me  know  whether  the  lions  eat  Daniel  or 
if  Daniel— " 

"  Eats  the  lions  ?  I  don't  know  who  Dan'l  was,  but 
this  ain't  goin'  to  be  that  kind  of  a  show.  It'll  just  be 
a  sheep-killin'  contest.  An'  /  never  was  built  to  play 
the  alloorin'  role  of  Sheep.  So  you  can  figger  out 
who'll  be  killer  an'  who'll  get  the  job  of  killee" 


CHAPTER  III 

CALEB    CONOVER    FIGHTS 

Granite's  social  life  revolved  about  the  Arareek 
Country  Club.  Granite  felt  a  guilty  pride  when  its 
more  sensational  preachers  railed  against  the  local 
preference  for  spending  Sunday  morning  on  the  Ara 
reek  links  or  on  the  big  clubhouse  veranda,  rather 
than  in  church  pews.  Granite  social  lights  flared  daz- 
zlingly  at  the  Club's  dances.  Granite  men  chose  the 
Arareek  smoking  room  as  a  lounging  place  in  prefer 
ence  to  the  more  exclusive  Pompton  Club's  apartments. 
Situated  a  half  mile  beyond  the  growing  city's  bor 
ders,  the  Arareek  clubhouse  lay  in  the  centre  of  a  nar 
row  valley,  whence  its  grounds  radiated  in  all  direc 
tions. 

Thither,  Conover,  after  his  talk  with  Desiree  Shev- 
lin,  bent  his  steps.  Caleb  had  been  no  less  amazed 
than  delighted  when  Caine,  a  year  or  so  earlier,  had 
succeeded  in  engineering  his  election  to  the  Arareek. 
The  Club  had  been  in  need  of  money  and  was  there 
fore  the  less  inquisitorial  as  to  the  character  of  can 
didates.  Conover  was  then  unknown  to  most  of  its 
members.  With  a  half  score  of  innocuous  nobodies 
he  had  been  admitted.  The  combined  initiation  fees 

37 


38  THE  FIGHTER 

had  lifted  the  Arareek  momentarily  from  its  financial 
trouble. 

Now,  with  much  the  excitement  of  a  shoal  of  min 
nows  to  whose  pool  a  pickerel  has  found  ingress,  the 
club's  Governors  were  seeking  to  correct  their  error 
of  negligence.  A  committee  had  been  appointed  to 
take  semi- formal  testimony  in  the  case,  to  overrule 
whatsoever  defense  Conover  might  seek  to  make  and 
to  report  to  the  Board  in  favor  of  the  unwelcome 
member's  rejection.  The  exact  mode  of  transaction 
was  out  of  rule,  from  a  standpoint  of  rigid  club  stand 
ards.  But  the  Arareek,  as  its  members  boasted,  was 
less  an  actual  club  than  a  phase  of  local  society,  and  as 
such  was  a  law  unto  itself. 

On  the  veranda,  as  Caleb  arrived,  several  members 
were  seated,  watching  a  putting  match  on  the  "  green  " 
that  stretched  betwixt  porch  and  tennis  courts.  One 
or  two  women  were  among  the  onlookers.  From  the 
awkward  hush  that  fell  on  the  group  as  he  ascended 
the  steps,  Conover  deduced  the  trend  of  the  talk  his 
presence  had  checked.  He  glanced  in  grim  amuse 
ment  from  one  averted  or  expressionless  face  to  an 
other;  then,  singling  out  Caine  with  a  nod,  passed  in 
through  the  low,  broad  doorway.  Caine  tossed  away 
his  cigarette,  smiled  non-committally  in  reply  to  a  bevy 
of  questioning  looks,  and  followed  his  protegee  into 
the  building. 

"  They're  waiting  for  you,"  said  he,  catching  up 
with  Conover.  "  The  Committee  went  to  its  room 
five  minutes  ago,  pacing  in  single  file  like  the  Court  of 


39 

Priests  in  Alda.  Can't  you  manage  to  tremble  a  little  ? 
It  seems  hard  that  so  much  really  excellent  pompos 
ity  should  be  wasted  on  a  man  who  doesn't  care. 
Why  are  you  late  ?  " 

"  I'm  always  late  to  an  appointment,"  answered 
Conover.  "  Make  the  other  fellow  do  the  waitin'. 
Don't  do  it  yourself.  Lots  of  time  saved  that  way." 

Caine  threw  open  a  door  and  ushered  Caleb  into  a 
room  where  a  dozen  or  more  men  were  seated  about  a 
long  table.  Bowing  carelessly  to  the  members  in  gen 
eral,  Caine  took  a  seat  at  the  table,  and  motioned  Con- 
over  toward  a  chair  that  had  been  placed  for  the 
purpose  at  the  lower  end  of  the  apartment.  Conover, 
disregarding  the  gesture,  slouched  across  to  a  larger, 
more  comfortable  leather  chair,  pulled  it  to  the  win 
dow,  flung  himself  into  the  seat,  his  back  to  the  strong 
afternoon  light,  and  drew  out  a  cigar. 

"  Now  then,  gentlemen,"  he  ordered  curtly,  as  he 
struck  a  match  on  his  sole.  "  Be  as  brief  as  you 
can.  My  time's  worth  money.  What  do  you  want 
of  me?" 

A  murmur  —  almost  a  stifled  gasp  —  went  around 
the  table,  at  the  contempt  in  his  action  and  words. 
There  was  an  embarrassed  pause.  Then,  Reuben 
Standish,  as  Chairman  of  the  Committee,  rose,  gray 
and  portentous,  and  turned  toward  Caleb. 

"  Mr.  Conover,"  he  began,  "  Certain  statements, — 
charges,  in  fact, —  have  been  made  to  the  Committee, 
relative  to  yourself.  It  is  your  right  to  hear  them  in 
detail.  I  will  now  read — " 


40  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Never  mind  that !  "  commanded  Conover.  "  Just 
give  the  gist  of  the  thing.  Cut  out  the  details." 

Standish  glared  reprovingly  at  the  wholly  unim 
pressed  man  at  the  window.  But  as  the  latter  pur 
posely  sat  with  his  back  to  the  light,  his  expression 
was  quite  illegible. 

"  Just  as  you  wish,"  resumed  the  Chairman  after  a 
moment's  hesitation.  "  The  papers  I  was  about  to 
read  are  to  the  effect  that  you  are  declared  to  be  in  no 
sense  a  desirable  member  of  the  Arareek  Club,  either 
from  a  personal  or  a  business  standpoint.  Believe 
me,  I  regret  the  necessity  of  — " 

"  Oh,  I'll  take  your  grief  for  granted,"  interrupted 
Conover.  "  This  meeting's  been  called,  as  I  under 
stand  it,  to  kick  me  out  of  the  Arareek.  Now  I  — " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Conover,"  urged  Standish 
civilly.  "We  wish— " 

"Be  quiet!"  said  Caleb,  "I'm  talkin'  now.  You 
want  to  get  me  out  of  this  Club.  Well,  you  can't  do 
it.  You  can't  stir  me  an  inch.  I'm  no  measly  lamb, 
like  the  one  in  the  circus  '  Happy  Family '  where  the 
lion  an'  the  lamb  live  together  in  one  cage;  an'  where 
the  lamb's  got  to  be  renewed  ev'ry  now  an'  then,  on  the 
sly.  I  didn't  butt  in  here.  I  was  elected.  I've  broke 
none  of  the  Club  rules.  And  till  I  do,  here  I'm 
goin'  to  stay.  Is  that  clear?  There  ain't  a  law  in  the 
land  that  can  get  me  out.  Lord!  But  it  makes  me 
sick  to  hear  a  pack  of  sapheads  like  you,  tryin'  to  scare 
a  grown  man.  It  won't  work.  Now  we  understand 
each  other.  Anything  more  ?  " 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  41 

Amid  the  buzz,  a  man  half  way  down  the  table 
spoke. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  we  don't  quite  under 
stand  each  other,  Mr.  Conover.  This  is  not  a  business 
concern.  It  is  a  social  club.  It  is  a  place  where  the 
women  of  our  families  are  also  welcome  guests.  The 
presence  of  a  man  we  cannot  introduce  to  our  wives 
and  daughters  will  only  — " 

"Why  can't  you?"  demanded  Conover.  "Why 
can't  you  introduce  me?  An'  for  that  matter,  I 
haven't  asked  you  to,  yet.  Wait  till  I  do,  before  you 
say  you  can't." 

"  This  club,"  went  on  the  other,  "  represents  all  that 
is  best  and  most  congenial  in  Granite's  social  life. 
With  a  discordant  element  introduced  into  it,  the 
club's  chief  feature  is  gone.  If  there  is  a  man  who 
frequents  the  place  whom  we  do  not  know  and  whom 
we  do  not  wish  to  know  —  who  cannot  meet  our — " 

"  I  see  we'll  have  to  waste  more  time  over  this  than 
I  thought,"  grunted  Caleb.  "  Let's  go  back  a  little. 
Why  don't  you  want  to  know  me  ?  Hey  ?  " 

"  Need  we  go  into  that?     Surely — " 

"  As  you  have  made  it  one  of  the  reasons  for  want- 
in'  me  fired,  I  guess  we'd  better.  Why  don't  you  want 
to  know  me?  " 

"If  you  force  me  to  say  it,  because  you  are  not  a 
gentleman." 

"  No  ?  "  sneered  Caleb,  as  a  new  and  fainter  mur 
mur  of  deprecation  ran  along  the  table,  "  Maybe 
I'm  not.  I  don't  get  tanked  up  on  cheap  booze  down 


42  THE  FIGHTER 

in  the  bar  after  golf  tournaments,  like  a  lot  of  your 
'  gentlemen '  here,  an'  then  wander  up  to  dinner  on 
the  veranda  an'  talk  so  loud  that  the  women  at  the 
next  table  can't  hear  themselves  cackle.  I  don't  ask 
a  party  of  men  and  women  to  dine  with  me  here  an', 
then  get  a  silly  jag  an'  sing  '  Mother,  Pin  a  Rose  on 
Me'  every  five  minutes  durin'  the  meal  till  ev'rybody 
at  the  table  gets  scared  for  fear  I'll  sing  somethin' 
worse, —  like  you  did  last  Sunday  night." 

Conover's  interlocutor  sat  down  very  hard  and  tried 
to  look  loftily  indifferent.  Caine's  undisguised  laugh 
made  the  effort  more  difficult. 

"  No,"  pursued  Caleb,  with  impersonal  calm,  "  I'm 
not  a  gentleman.  I  used  to  think  maybe  I'd  like  to 
be  one.  But  I  don't,  any  more.  I  come  down  here 
for  dinner  sometimes,  Sunday  evenin'.  As  there's 
no  one  exactly  clamorin'  to  entertain  me,  I've  plenty 
of  chance  to  use  my  eyes  an'  ears.  So  I  get  a  line 
on  *  gentlemen '  an'  on  how  they  act  when  they're  in 
their  own  crowd.  At  the  table  next  to  me  last  Sun 
day,  there  was  a  little  dinner  party.  'Bout  a  dozen 
in  all.  You  was  givin'  it,  I  b'lieve,  Mr.  Feather- 
stone.  By  the  time  dessert  came  everybody  was 
a-tellin'  stories.  Stories  /  wouldn't  tell  in  a  barroom. 
Women,  too.  Gee!  I  never  knew  before  that 
women  — " 

"  Mr.  Chairman!  "  cried  Featherstone,  jumping  up. 
"  I  protest  against  this  vile  abuse.  As  a  member  of 
the  Arareek — " 

"  As   a  member   of  the   Arareek,"    cut   in   Caleb, 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  43 

"  you'll  set  down  an'  be  quiet.  You've  had  your  say. 
What  I've  just  told,  I've  told  as  a  member  of  the 
Club  —  an'  to  fellow-members.  Of  course  if  I'm 
kicked  out  of  the  Arareek  —  an'  kicked  out  on  your 
vote,  Featherstone  —  I  won't  feel  bound  to  keep  my 
mouth  shut  about  those  same  stories  or  who  told  'em. 
Nor  what  you  whispered  to  a  girl  as  you  passed  my 
table  on  your  way  out.  If — " 

"  This  is  blackmail !  "  shrieked  Featherstone,  "  I  — " 

"  It's  anything  you  like  to  name  it,"  agreed  Caleb, 
cheerfully,  "  But  it  goes.  Understand  that.  Any 
one  else  got  somethin'  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  Mr.  Conover,"  put  in  another 
man,  "  if  he  can  truthfully  deny  that  his  business  deal 
ings  will  not  bear  such  inspection  as — " 

"  As  your  own  deal  in  buyin'  the  tip  of  where  the 
new  High  School  was  to  be  built  an'  then  gettin'  an 
option  on  the  land  an'  squeezin'  the  city  for  $48,000  ?  " 
asked  Conover.  "  Oh,  I  guess  most  of  my  business 
will  frame  up  pretty  well  alongside  of  that.  Say, 
your  talk  of  '  business  methods '  makes  me  laugh, 
when  I  remember  what  you  offered  for  that  tip  an' 
who  you  went  shares  with  on  the  money  you  got. 
As  a  feller  Club  member,  my  mouth's  shut  on  that. 
When  I'm  kicked  out,  it'll  be  a  diff'rent  story.  That's 
blackmail  again,  if  you  like." 

A  nervous,  gray-haired  man  at  the  foot  of  the 
board  checked  comment  by  saying: 

"  It's  scarcely  needful,  Mr.  Conover,  to  adopt  that 
tone.  For  the  sake  of  the  club's  good  name,  we  are 


44  THE  FIGHTER 

simply  inquiring  into  the  truth  of  certain  reports  of 
the  way  your  money  was  made.  We  — " 

"  It's  my  own  business  how  it  was  made,  Mr. 
Hawarden,"  countered  Caleb.  "  The  way  I  spend  it 
is  anybody's  business.  An'  when  I  leave  this  Club 
I'm  willin'  to  make  public  the  accounts  of  some  of  my 
disbursements." 

Though  the  retort  was  not  rough  of  tone  and 
seemed  quite  harmless, —  even  vapid  —  of  meaning, 
Hawarden  all  at  once  dropped  out  of  the  dispute.  In 
vain  did  several  of  his  fellow  Committeemen  who  had 
relied  on  him  to  press  the  prosecution,  signal  for  a 
renewal  of  attack.  Thenceforth,  throughout  the 
session,  Hawarden  was  gloomily  mute.  But  there 
were  others  to  carry  on  the  attack  he  had  so  unex 
pectedly  abandoned.  Notably  a  downy  little  man 
who  sat  at  Reuben  Standish's  right. 

"  It  is  said,  Mr.  Conover,"  observed  the  new  as 
sailant,  with  an  air  of  nervous  relish,  "  that  your 
father  was  a  convict." 

Again  the  murmur  of  deprecation  at  the  bland 
brutality  of  the  assault.  Caine  leaned  far  forward, 
hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Caleb's  silhouetted  face, 
and  half  expecting  to  see  the  downy-haired  accuser 
tossed  bodily  from  the  window. 

For  an  instant,  Conover  made  no  reply.  His  cigar 
had  gone  out  and  he  was  busy  fumbling  for  a  match. 
But  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  with  perfect,  unaffected 
calm. 

"  Yes,   Mr.  Vroom,"  he  said,  "  My  father  was  a 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  45 

convict.  He  may  be  one  again,  by  this  time,  for  any 
thing  /  know.  I've  never  set  eyes  on  the  old  crook 
since  the  day  they  sentenced  him  to  five  years  in  the 
pen." 

He  puffed  at  his  cigar.  Then  rambled  on,  half  to 
himself: 

"  I  was  ten  years  old  then.  It  was  my  birthday,  I 
remember.  The  old  man  had  a  job  in  the  C.  G.  &  X. 
coal  yards.  I  came  home  early  from  school.  Ma  had 
promised  me  a  birthday  cake  with  candles  for  supper. 
She  an'  dad  had  planned  to  have  some  measly  little 
cel'bration  for  me,  an'  take  me  a  to  variety  show  in 
the  evenin'.  I  ran  home  all  the  way  from  school. 
When  I  got  to  the  ten'ment,  there  was  a  crowd  of 
gapin'  kids  an'  women  around  our  door.  Just  then 
out  came  a  couple  of  cops  with  Dad  between  'em ;  an' 
Ma  followed  with  her  apron  over  her  head,  cryin'  to 
break  her  heart.  I  remember  she  still  had  one  of  those 
silly  birthday  candles  gripped  in  her  hand.  She'd  been 
puttin'  it  onto  the  cake  when  the  cops  came.  After 
that  there  wasn't  any  talk  of  birthday  sprees  in  the 
Conover  flat.  It  was  up  to  us  to  hustle.  An'  we  did. 
My  mother  went  out  washin'  an'  as  a  floor-scrubber. 
An'  /  got  a  job  as  tally  boy  in  the  C.  G.  &  X.  yards. 
That  was  my  start." 

He  paused  again,  looked  thoughtfully  at  his  cigar 
ash  and  went  on  in  a  more  business-like  tone. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Vroom,  my  father  was  a  convict.  Not 
much  of  one;  but  as  much  as  his  small  chances  al 
lowed.  He  was  only  weigher  at  the  coal  scales.  He 


46  THE  FIGHTER 

*  fixed  '  the  scales  an'  took  his  rakeoff.  That  was  all. 
It  went  on  for  a  couple  years.  We  got  the  only  square 
meals  I'd  ever  ate,  durin'  that  time.  Then  he  was  sent 
up;  an' — well,  Ma  wasn't  used  to  scrubbin'.  She 
took  pneumonia  an'  died  the  year  before  Dad  got  out. 
He  never  came  back  to  our  neighborhood,  an'  I  haven't 
seen  him  since.  He  may  be  dead  or  in  jail  or  a  mine 
owner,  for  all  I  know  —  or  care.  I'm  sorry,  for  the 
sake  of  your  arg'ment,  he  wasn't  more  of  a  criminal, 
Mr.  Vroom.  Now,  if  he'd  been  indicted  for  misap 
propriation  of  the  Orphan's  Home  trust  funds,  like 
your  wife's  brother  was;  an'  if  his  family  had  had  the 
indictment  quashed  by  payin'  the  right  parties 
$18,400 — " 

"  You  are  out  of  order,  Mr.  Conover ! "  rebuked 
Standish,  in  answer  to  a  look  of  frenzied  protest  from 
Vroom.  "  Your  retort  is  — " 

"  Is  dead-true ;  an'  I've  the  means  of  layin'  my  hands 
on  the  proof,"  finished  Caleb.  "  I'd  do  it,  too  —  just 
for  the  sake  of  punishin'  a  cur  —  if  the  cur's  brother- 
in-law,  Mr.  Vroom,  didn't  happen  to  be  a  clubmate  of 
mine." 

"  With  a  man  like  this  on  our  rolls,"  fumed  an 
elderly  Governor,  "  We  shall  lose  our  reputation 
for—" 

"If  some  of  you  fellers  could  get  rid  of  your  repu 
tations,"  interrupted  Caleb,  "  you'd  be  in  luck." 

A  man  at  Standish's  left  had  risen  and  was  await 
ing  a  moment  of  silence  in  which  to  speak.  He  was 
nattily  clad  in  blue  reefer  and  white  duck  trousers. 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  47 

A  yachting  cap  lay  on  the  table  beside  him.  Every 
inch  of  his  stalwart  body  from  the  curling  black  hair 
and  pink  cheeks  down  to  the  immaculate  white  canvas 
shoes  bespoke  a  perfection  of  grooming  that  seemed 
vaguely  redolent  of  scented  soap  and  tailors'  models. 
His  full  red  lips  were  curled  back  now  from  a  double 
set  of  ultra-pearly  teeth,  and  his  eyes,  which  Desiree 
Shevlin  had  disrespectfully  likened  to  twin  chocolate 
pies,  were  glassy  with  wrath. 

"  Well,  Brother  Blacarda,"  hailed  Conover,  break 
ing  off  in  his  reply  as  his  gaze  rested  on  this  latest 
opponent  who  stood  threatendingly  above  him,  "  What 
have  you  got  to  say?  Did  you  come  to  congratulate 
me  on  the  Steeloid  win-out,  or  have  you  somethin'  to 
add  to  the  bokays  that  your  little  friends  here  have 
been  tossin'  at  me?  Speak  up,  man!  Stop  lookin' 
like  *  This-Nobby-Style-$7.49,'  an'  say  what  you've  got 
to." 

"  You've  played  a  trick  on  my  Steeloid  Company," 
sputtered  Blacarda,  "  that  ought  to  land  you  in  State's 
Prison  with  your  crook  father.  A  trick  that  ought 
to  put  you  out  of  the  society  of  decent  men.  It  will 
certainly  put  you  out  of  this  Club.  Either  you  leave 
the  Arareek  or  I  do." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  too  bad,  Blacarda,"  purred 
Caleb,  "  Us  chappies  at  the  Club  will  be  real  sorry 
to  lose  you.  But  if  you  must  go, —  why  take  my 
blessin'  with  you." 

"  This  man,  gentlemen,"  pursued  Blacarda,  loudly, 
wheeling  to  face  the  rest,  "  has,  by  dirty  chicanery, 


48  THE  FIGHTER 

absorbed  all  the  Independent  Steeloid  Companies, — 
my  own  among  the  number, —  in  his  iniquitous  Trust. 
Let  him  deny  it  if  he  dares  to." 

"  Deny  it?  "  laughed  Caleb,  "  Not  me !  Best  day's 
work  of  my  life.  Cleaned  up  an  easy  million  on  the 
deal.  Watcher  you  goin'  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Do  about  it  ?  "  gasped  Blacarda.  "  Do  about  it  ? 
There's  a  law  in  the  land  and  — " 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Caleb,  "  A  Fed'ral  law  an'  a 
law  of  States,  too.  It's  lucky  those  two  laws  ain't  the 
same.  Otherwise,  you'd  have  been  outlawed  from  the 
whole  country  instead  of  only  from  Iowa,  the  time 
you  promoted  that  fake  Des  Moines  Improvement 
Comp'ny.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I'm  told 
you're  goin'  to  carry  our  Steeloid  squabble  to  the 
Legislature.  I  tell  you  in  advance,  you'll  lose.  You 
may  be  able  to  swing  part  of  the  Assembly,  but  I  can 
do  a  little  swingin'  myself,  up  there.  You'll  find  the 
Steeloid  Trust  is  goin'  to  win  at  the  Capital  as  easy 
as  it  won  to-day  at  — " 

"  We  have  Right  behind  us,"  blustered  Blacarda, 
"and—" 

"  An'  the  Steeloid  Trust  has  Caleb  Conover  behind 
it,"  retorted  Caleb.  "  I  guess  he's  as  good  a  backer  as 
'  Right,'  any  day.  I'm  expectin'  a  tough  scramble  in 
order  to  beat  you  at  the  Capital,  Blacarda.  But  I'll 
do  it.  I'll  be  on  the  ground  myself.  An'  I'll  beat 
you  as  sure  as  I  beat  you  to-day.  It'll  mean  a  fight  — • 
a  big  fight.  I  know  that.  But  a  fight's  somethin'  I 
don't  generally  run  ki-yi-in'  away  from." 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  49 

"  All  this  is  somewhat  beside  the  point,  gentlemen," 
interposed  Standish.  "Is  there  any  further — ?" 

He  paused  and  glanced  about  the  table.  But  no  one 
cared  to  couch  lance  at  the  brute  who  had  thus  far 
held  the  lists  so  successfully  against  the  Arareek's 
doughtiest  champions.  At  length  Caine  spoke. 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  he  drawled  in  his  lazy,  half- 
bantering  way,  "  that  these  proceedings  have  been  de 
cidedly  informal;  even  for  an  avowedly  informal 
meeting.  Also,  that  we  have  made  little  real  progress 
on  either  side.  There  are  several  broken  heads,  and 
the  atmosphere  is  somewhat  heavy  with  the  reek  of 
battle.  But  I  fail  to  hear  any  shout  of  victory.  Cer 
tainly  not  from  our  Honorable  Committee.  Perhaps 
you  will  all  pardon  me  if  I  suggest  that  our  learned 
body  has  gone  about  the  present  business  in  a  less 
tactful  way  that  one  might  have  expected  from  such 
natural  diplomats.  Mr.  Conover,  you  have  had  to 
answer  some  extremely  impertinent  —  unnecessarily 
impertinent  —  questions  this  afternoon.  If  you  have 
answered  them  in  their  own  key,  I  am  sure  no  one  can 
honestly  blame  you.  Unless  you  care  to  say  anything 
more,  I  think  the  Committee  may  as  well  go  at  once 
into  executive  session  and  put  the  matter  to  vote.  I 
so  move,  Mr.  Chairman." 

"  Hold  on  a  second,"  said  Conover.  "  You  people 
can  vote  in  a  minute  if  you  want  to.  First,  I've  got 
a  word  more  to  say.  The  main  counts  against  me, 
as  I  take  it,  are  that  I  had  a  bad  start  in  life  an'  that 
my  business  methods  aren't  any  better  than  the 


50  THE  FIGHTER 

methods  of  other  men  in  this  Club.  Also  that  I  ain't 
a  gentleman.  We'll  let  the  question  of  my  business 
methods  slide.  I  guess  there  ain't  as  few  stones  on 
the  carpet  as  there's  men  here  to  throw  'em  at  me 
on  that  score.  Now,  as  to  my  not  bein'  a  gentleman 
an'  my  start  in  life:  I  started  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder.  I'm  only  in  the  early  thirties  and  I'm  not  far 
from  the  top.  How  many  of  you  could  a'  got  where 
I  am  if  you'd  started  where  I  did?  Not  a  man  of 
you.  I  worked  my  way  up  from  tally  boy  of  the  C. 
G.  &  X.  yards  to  the  job  of  president  of  the  whole 
road.  An'  I'm  makin'  it  the  biggest  road  in  the  State. 

"How'd  I  do  it?  By  fightin'.  I  had  no  pull,  no 
cash,  no  family  at  my  back.  Ev'rybody  took  a  turn 
at  tryin'  to  step  on  my  hands  whenever  I'd  grab  a 
new  rung  of  the  ladder.  But  I  climbed  on  —  an'  I 
fought  on.  To-day  I'm  as  rich  a  man  as  there  is  in 
Granite.  Other  rich  men  were  members  of  this  Club 
an*  got  fun  out  of  it.  So  I  joined  it,  too.  I've  as 
good  a  right  to  fun  as  anyone.  An'  I'm  goin'  to  have 
it.  That's  why  I  won't  get  out.  An'  you  can't  put 
me  out.  You're  goin'  to  vote  on  my  case  in  a  few 
minutes.  An'  you're  goin'  to  vote  to  keep  me  here. 
Not  because  you  want  to;  but  because  I've  made  you 
do  it  If  you  hit  a  sulky  dog  with  an  axe-handle,  he 
won't  exactly  love  you.  But  he'll  mind  you,  next 
time.  An'  it's  better  to  be  minded  than  to  be  ignored. 
I  guess  there  won't  anybody  here  ignore  me  in  future. 

"  By  the  way,  gentlemen :  Just  to  show  how  much 
int'rested  I  am  in  the  Club's  welfare,  I  bought  in  the 


CALEB  CONOVER  FIGHTS  51 

mortgage  on  the  Arareek's  house  and  grounds  last 
month.  I  bought  it  for  fear  it  might  fall  in  the  hands 
of  some  crank  member  who'd  foreclose  if  he  was 
dropped  from  the  Club.  Or  such  a  crank  as  might 
foreclose  if  he  was  treated  like  a  measly  social  leper 
at  the  Club's  blowouts.  That's  all,  gentlemen.  I'll 
wait  out  on  the  porch  for  your  verdict.  Good-day, 
all.  I'll  excuse  the  Committee  from  risin'  and  es- 
cortin'  me  to  the  door." 

He  rose,  stretched  his  big  frame  and  lounged  out 
of  the  room.  Silence  accompanied  his  exit,  but  was 
split  by  a  dozen  excited  voices  the  moment  the  door 
slammed  behind  him. 

Caleb  Conover  was  loafing  in  a  low  wicker  chair  on. 
the  veranda,  a  cigar  between  his  teeth  and  a  long 
frosty  glass  at  his  side.  He  was  idly  watching  the 
putting  match  on  the  green  before  him.  The  ver 
anda's  other  occupants  had  more  or  less  unobstrusively 
withdrawn  to  the  far  end  of  the  porch,  leaving  him 
quite  alone. 

It  was  thus  Caine  found  him  when  the  Committee 
meeting  broke  up.  The  newspaper  owner  strolled 
across  toward  Conover,  a  tantalizing  smile  on  his  thin, 
bored  face. 

"Well?  "he  queried. 

Conover  glanced  up  eagerly  at  his  friend's  ap 
proach. 

"  Say,  Caine,"  he  asked,  pointing,  "  Why  do  they 
choose  one  of  the  iron-tipped  sticks  sometimes  and 


52  THE  FIGHTER 

then  use  one  of  the  brass  headed  ones  next  time,  for 
just  the  same  kind  of  a  swat?" 

Cain  gazed  down  at  Caleb  in  genuine  wonder ;  then 
dropped  into  a  chair  at  his  side. 

"  Conover,"  he  declared,  "  You're  the  only  man  on 
earth  who  never  bores  me.  And  it's  because  you 
never  by  any  chance  happen  to  say  or  do  what  people 
have  a  right  to  expect  you  to." 

"If  it's  a  riddle  — "  said  Caleb,  puzzled,  as  he 
looked  away  from  the  green. 

"  It  isn't.  It's  genius,"  answered  Caine.  "  Here 
I  come  to  bring  you  the  decision  of  the  Committee. 
The  decision  that's  supposedly  been  keeping  you  on 
pins  and  needles.  And,  instead  of  dragging  the  news 
out  of  me  by  main  force,  you  ask  a  question  about  a 
putting  match." 

"Oh,  the  decision  ? "  returned  Caleb,  carelessly. 
"  That's  all  right.  I'm  to  be  kept  on  as  a  pop'lar, 
respected  member.  I  knew  that  before  I  left  the 
Committee  room." 

"  You  knew  more  than  I  did,  then." 

"  I  always  do,"  agreed  Caleb  with  utter  simplicity. 
"  That's  why  I'm  where  I  am  to-day.  If  I  couldn't 
size  up  folk's  plans  before  they  made  'em,  I'd  still  be 
a  brakeman  on  the  C.  G.  &  X.  or  runnin'  the  railroad 
saloon  where  I  made  my  first  cash.  I'm  kept  in  the 
Club  by  every  vote  except  Blacarda's. 

"  You  listened  ?  "  cried  Caine  in  wonder. 

"  Son,"  sighed  Caleb,  wearily,  "  You  make  me  tired. 
Why  should  I  a-listened  when  I  knew  already?  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CALEB    CONOVER    EXPLAINS 

"  I  suppose,"  volunteered  Caine,  as  he  and  Conover 
walked  back  to  town  together,  "  I  suppose  you  know 
you  behaved  like  a  wild  ass  of  the  desert?  That  no 
man  with  an  iota  of  breeding  would  ever  have  said  the 
things  you  did,  to  the  Committee  members?  I  only 
mention  it  in  case  you  don't  realize." 

"  Oh,  I  realize  it  all  right,"  Conover  answered  him. 
"  It  ain't  a  parlor  stunt  to  sling  off  your  coat  an'  grab 
a  lady  by  the  back  hair.  But  if  she  happens  to  be 
drownin',  it's  the  c'rrect  play  to  make.  It  was  a  case 
for  coat-sheddin'  an'  back-hair-grabbin',  to-day,  at  the 
Club.  That's  why  I  did  it.  It  landed  'em.  If  I'd 
got  up  and  sprung  a  flowery  speech,  they'd  a'yawned 
and  voted  me  out.  If  I'd  put  up  a  whine,  they'd 
a'  been  at  my  throat  like  a  pack  o'  hungry  wolf-dogs. 
Someone  had  to  use  a  whip.  An'  I  wanted  it  should 
be  me,  not  them,  that  used  it.  Which  same  it  was." 

"  No  one  will  deny  that,  I  think,"  said  Caine,  drily, 
"  If  a  poll  were  taken  just  now  for  the  best  hated  man 
in  Arareek,  you'd  be  elected  by  acclamation.  You 
said  some  things  that  ought  to  have  been  said.  But 
you  said  them  so  vulgarly  that  you  seemed  to  be  spit 
ting  diamonds." 

53 


.54  THE  FIGHTER 

"  But  I'm  still  in  the  Club.  An'  they  daren't  give 
me  the  cold  shoulder  at  any  more  of  their  blowouts. 
They'll  still  hate  me  like  poison,  maybe.  But  they'll 
be  civil;  an'  when  Desiree  Shevlin  goes  there  with 
Mrs.  Hawarden,  she  won't  see  folks  treatin'  me  like 
I  was  the  original  Invisible  Man." 

Caine  whistled. 

"So?"  he  mused.  "That's  the  secret  is  it?  I 
might  have  guessed.  I've  been  wondering  ever  since, 
why  you  made  such  a  point  about  being  well  received 
at  the  Club's  functions.  For,  unless  I'm  vastly  mis 
taken,  you've  about  as  much  desire  for  personal  social 
welcome  as  a  hermit  thrush.  I  could  see  why  you 
wanted  to  stay  in  the  Arareek,  but  why  you  wanted 
to  attend  its — " 

"  You're  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree,"  growled  Caleb, 
uncomfortably.  "  At  least  you  ain't  much  more'n 
half  right.  Of  course  it's  nice  not  to  have  Dey  made 
uncomfortable  on  my  account.  But  I'm  goin'  to  push 
my  way  into  that  bunch  for  my  own  sake,  too.  You'll 
see  a  whole  lot  of  things  if  you  look  long  enough. 
To-day  was  just  a  flea-bite  to  what's  comin'  before 
I'm  done." 

"  Still  bent  on  '  taking  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  by 
violence  ? ' 

"  Not  quite  that.  I  hear  Heaven's  got  only  the  best 
society.  I  ain't  after  the  best.  Only  the  highest. 
So  Granite'll  do  as  well.  Care  to  tell  me  anything 
'bout  the  details  of  what  happened  after  I  left  the 
Committee  room  ?  " 


CALEB  CONOVER  EXPLAINS  55 

"  Everybody  talked  at  once,"  replied  Caine.  "  The 
air  fairly  crackled  with  blue  sparks  of  indignation.  I 
never  realized  before  how  many  names  a  man  could  be 
called.  It  was  a  liberal  education  in  what  not  to  say. 
Then,  little  by  little,  the  Governors  got  out  of  breath, 
and  I  moved  for  a  vote.  Vroom  amended  my  mo 
tion  by  suggesting  a  written  ballot." 

"  I  might  a'  knowed  it,"  crowed  Conover  in  high 
glee,  "  No  one  wanted  the  rest  to  know  he  was  votin' 
for  me.  Good  for  Vroom !  He  comes  nearer  havin' 
hooman  intell'gence  than  I  thought." 

"  The  amended  motion  was  passed  unanimously," 
went  on  Caine.  "  Oh,  it  was  a  rare  study  in  phys 
iognomy  when  Standish  announced  the  vote.  Eleven 
to  one  in  favor  of  retaining  you." 

"If  there'd  been  two  votes  against  me,  Blacarda 
could  have  been  arrested  for  repeatin',"  ruminated 
Conover.  "  Yes,  that's  just  how  I  figgered  it  would 
be." 

"  I  wasn't  surprised  at  Vroom  and  Featherstone 
and  the  others  you  so  pleasantly  threatened  to  black 
mail,"  said  Caine,  "  But  I  thought  at  least  Standish 
and  Hawarden — " 

"  I  told  you  I'd  helped  Standish's  bank  and  that 
he'll  want  me  again,  soon,"  answered  Caleb.  "  His 
gratitood  market  is  strong  on  futurities." 

"  But  Hawarden  ?  You  didn't  threaten  him.  Yet 
lie  was  muzzled  after  the  very  first  attack." 

"  No,  I  didn't  threaten  Hawarden  to  any  very  great 
extent,"  assented  Conover,  "  I  just  reminded  him, 


56  THE  FIGHTER 

quiet-like,  that  I'm  payin'  his  wife  $8,000  a  season  to 
help  Desiree  in  the  society  game,  an'  that  maybe  the 
news  might  leak  out  an'  the  supplies  be  cut  off  if  I  was 
fired." 

"  Mrs.  Hawarden !  "  ejaculated  Caine.  "  Are  you 
in  earnest?  " 

"  I'm  not  given  to  springin'  measly  jokes.  I 
wanted  that  the  little  girl  should  have  a  show.  She's 
prettier  an'  better  educated  an'  cleverer'n  any  of  the 
people  in  the  gold-shirt  bunch.  But  I  couldn't  get 
her  into  that  crowd.  I  read  in  a  noospaper  about 
an  English  duchess  that  made  a  lot  of  coin  by  puttin' 
American  girls  into  the  right  surroundin's,  an'  it  gave 
me  an  idee.  There's  a  slump  in  the  Duchess  market 
here  at  Granite.  But  the  town's  crawlin'  with  old 
fam'lies  that  are  shy  on  cash.  An'  about  the  oldest 
an'  hardest  up  are  the  Hawardens.  So  I  arranged  it 
with  her.  It  was  dead  easy.  She  acted  shy  of  the 
deal  just  at  first ;  but  that  was  only  her  way,  I  s'pose. 
Women  that's  coy  after  they  stop  bein'  young  an' 
pretty  always  reminds  me  of  a  scarecrow  left  standin' 
in  a  field  after  all  the  crop's  been  carted  away." 

"Does  Miss  Shevlin  know  about  —  ?" 

"Does  she  know?  What  do  you  think  she  is? 
No,  son,  she  don't  know,  an'  I'll  break  the  neck  of  the 
blackguard  that  dares  tell  her.  You're  the  only  one 
except  the  Hawardens  that's  onto  it." 

"  So  I  am  the  logical  candidate  for  neck-breaking 
if  the  story  gets  out?  Don't  be  afraid,  old  man.  I'd 
break  my  own  neck  sooner  than  to  have  Miss  Shevlin's 


CALEB  CONOVER  EXPLAINS  57 

pleasure   spoiled.     I   suppose   she   does   get   pleasure 
from  being  a  protegee  of  Mrs.  Hawarden?  " 

"  Pleasure?  She's  tickled  to  death.  It's  worth 
the  money  twice  over  to  hear  her  tell  'bout  the  places 
she  goes.  Say,  Caine,  you  know  more  about  that 
game  than  I  do.  Has  she  got  any  chance  ?  " 

"  Any  chance  ?  "  echoed  Caine  in  perplexity. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  Her  father  was  kind 
of  common, —  like  me.  But  Desiree  ain't.  Even 
you  said  that  once.  An'  I  guess  there's  few  who  can 
spot  a  streak  of  mud-color  quicker'n  you  can.  I've 
got  her  into  a  crowd  where  her  father  an'  the  rest  of 
her  folks  could  never  have  gone.  What  I  want  to 
know  is:  Has  she  got  a  chance  of  stayin'  there  al 
ways?  Of  bein'  took  up  permanent  by  'em  an'  made 
one  of  'em?  " 

"  It  depends  entirely,  I  should  say,  on  whom  she 
marries." 

'*  You  mean  if  she  marries  some  feller  who's  high 
up  in  that  set,  she'll  be  made  to  home  there?  " 

There  was  something  wistfully  eager  beneath  the 
Fighter's  gruff  tones, —  a  something  Caine  detected  in 
time  to  check  the  flippant  reply  that  had  risen  to  his 
own  lips.  He  eyed  Conover  with  veiled  curiosity  as 
he  asked  : 

'  You  would  want  her  to  marry  such  a  man?  " 

"  Sure!  If  he  treated  her  right  an'  she  was  happy. 
But  if  she's  goin'  to  be  looked  down  on,  an'  guyed 
behind  folk's  fans,  an'  reminded  that  her  old  man  used 
to  eat  corned  beef  and  cabbage  in  his  shirt-sleeves  — 


58  THE  FIGHTER 

why,  then  I'm  damned  if  I  don't  b'lieve  I'd  buy  up 
the  whole  of  Granite  an'  turn  the  swells  out  into  the 
next  County." 

"  It  all  depends,  as  I  said,  on  the  man  she  marries," 
pursued  Caine.  "If  she  marries  a  man  of  good  fam 
ily  and  turns  her  back  on  her  old  associates  and  has 
enough  money  of  her  own — " 

"She'll  have  it,"  interrupted  Conover.  "She'll 
have  enough  to  make  her  the  richest  woman  in  this 
burg, —  an'  it'll  be  in  her  own  name,  too.  As  for 
shakin'  folks  like  me, —  if  I  haven't  got  my  own  foot 
hold  there  by  that  time, —  she'll  do  that  too.  I'll  see 
that  she  does." 

"  And  yet  you're  fond  of  her?  " 

"  That's  why  I'm  doin'  it,  son.  An'  remember 
you'll  keep  on  bein'  the  only  one  besides  the  Hawar- 
dens  that  knows  anything  'bout  my  share  in  the  deal. 
Speakin'  of  '  deals,'  Blacarda  means  trouble  for  us." 

"In  the  Steeloid  affair?"  queried  Caine.  "I 
thought  you'd  won  that  fight." 

"  I  won  that,  but  there's  another  a-comin'.  I  got 
a  tip  on  it  same  time  I  heard  of  the  incorp' ration, 
to-day.  Blacarda  pulls  a  pretty  big  oar  in  the  Legis 
lature.  He's  back  of  that  Starke  Anti-Combine  bill 
we  side-tracked  early  in  the  session.  If  the  Starke 
bill  passes,  then  good-bye  to  our  Steeloid  corner! 
I've  a  tip  he's  renewed  it  an'  tryin'  to  rush  it  through 
before  the  session  closes.  It's  to  be  sprung  on  the 
Assembly,  Monday.  An'  he  figgers  on  gettin'  it  rail 
roaded  through.  If  it  once  passes  the  Assembly,  we're 


CALEB  CONOVER  EXPLAINS  59 

goners.  For  he's  got  the  State  Senate  where  he  wants 
it.  An'  the  Gov'nor's  on  his  side.  Owns  a  nice  block 
of  stock  in  Blacarda's  comp'ny.  So  it  all  hangs  on 
the  Assembly." 

"  You  take  it  coolly  —  considering  you  stand  to 
lose  something  like  a  million  dollars." 

*'  A  man  who  can't  keep  his  feet  warm  an'  his  head 
cool  has  about  as  much  show  in  finance  as  a  tallow  dog 
chasin'  an  asbestos  cat  through  hell,"  observed  Caleb, 
oracularly.  "  He  goes  up  with  a  puff  and  there  ain't 
any  remains  to  look  for.  I'm  not  in  the  Steeloid  deal 
to  cure  me  of  weak  heart  or  that  tired  feelin'.  I'm  in 
to  win.  An'  I'm  goin'  to." 
"But  the  Assembly?" 

"I'm  not  afraid  about  the  Assembly.  So  long  as 
I'm  on  hand  myself,  in  the  lobby,  to  hand  out  kicks 
or  kisses,  I'll  be  able  to  kill  the  Starke  bill.  I've  gone 
up  to  the  Capital  before,  on  what  looked  like  a  losin' 
fight.  An'  I've  licked  the  obstinate  one  into  shape,  an' 
scared  some  backbone  into  the  weak  one,  an'  put  a 
little  bank-note  oil  on  the  rusty  ones  —  an'  swung 
enough  of  'em  into  line  to  give  me  the  votes  I  needed. 
I  know  this  Assembly  pretty  well.  I  know  who  to 
count  on  an'  who  not  to.  I  know  who  to  buy,  who 
to  bully  an'  who  to  promise.  If  I  sent  up  anyone 
else,  he'd  make  a  fizzle  of  the  thing.  But,  somehow, 
in  all  my  business  deals,  I  find  if  I'm  on  the  ground 
myself  I  can  make  folks  do  what  I  want.  You  saw 
how  that  was,  to-day,  at  the  Club.  If  I'd  been  away, 
an'  you  or  anyone  else  representin'  me,  I'd  a'  been 


60  THE  FIGHTER 

kicked  out  of  the  Arareek  so  far  that  I'd  a-landed  in 
another  State.  But  I  swung  'em.  An'  I'll  swing 
'em  at  the  Capital.  It'll  be  a  narrow  squeak,  but  I'll 
do  it." 

"  In  other  words,  if  you  are  there  in  person,  the 
day  the  bill  comes  up,  you  can  kill  it.  Otherwise 
not.  Suppose  you're  sick,  or — " 

"Sick!"  scoffed  Caleb,  in  lofty  scorn.  "I've  got 
no  time  to  be  sick.  An'  s'spose  I  was?  When  I 
worked  that  merger  of  the  Porter-Hyde  Park  road,  I 
had  grippe.  My  temp'ture  was  up  at  105,  an'  I  had 
lovely  little  icicles  an'  red  hot  pokers  runnin'  through 
every  joint  of  me.  Likewise  a  head  that  ached  so 
loud  you  could  hear  it  a  block  away.  Gee,  but  I  felt 
so  bad  I  hated  to  look  up  at  the  undertaker  signs  on 
the  street !  An'  what'd  I  do  ?  Worked,  up  to  the  Cap 
ital,  three  days  an'  nights,  twenty- four  hours  a  day, 
not  once  gettin'  a  chance  to  take  my  clo'es  off  or  bat 
an  eye.  I  carried  through  that  merger  by  the  skin 
of  its  teeth.  Then  when  I  got  my  charter  I  blew 
myself  to  the  lux'ry  of  a  whole  gorgeous  week  in  the 
hosp'tal.  But  not  till  ev'ry  bit  of  work  was  wound 
up.  Sick  ?  H'm !  A  grown  man  don't  bother  much 
about  bein'  sick  when  there's  something  that's  got  to 
be  done.  Besides  " —  he  added  — "I  ain't  sick  now. 
An'  I'll  be  on  hand  at  the  Capital  the  minute  the  As 
sembly  opens,  Monday.  My  bein'  there  means  the 
killin'  of  the  Starke  bill.  An'  they  can  set  the  date 
for  the  fun'ral  without  any  fear  of  disappointin'  the 
mourners." 


CALEB  CONOVER  EXPLAINS  61 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Napoleon?"  asked  Caine, 
whimsically. 

"  Sure  I  did,"  responded  Conover.  "  Read  part  of 
a  book  about  him  once.  Why  ?  " 

"  Like  yourself  he  was  the  greatest  hold-up  man  of 
his  day,"  explained  Caine,  "  and  he  had  a  conscience 
of  the  same  calibre  as  yours.  If  he'd  been  a  little  bit 
less  of  a  highwayman  they  would  have  laughed  at  him. 
If  you  were  a  little  bit  less  of  a  highwayman 
they'd  put  you  in  jail.  He  had  magnetism.  Prob 
ably  almost  as  much  of  it  as  you  have.  That's  what 
made  me  think  of  him  just  then.  Wellington  used  to 
say  that  Napoleon's  mere  presence  on  a  battlefield 
did  more  to  win  victories  than  an  army  of  forty- 
thousand  men.  I  suppose  it's  the  same  at  the  As 
sembly." 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Caleb,  unmoved.  "  An' 
Blacarda  knows  it,  too.  He'd  give  ten  thousand  dol 
lars,  I'll  bet,  to  have  me  break  a  leg  between  this  an' 
Monday.  But  my  legs  are  feelin'  first  rate.  An' 
they're  goin'  to  keep  on  feelin'  better  all  the  time,  till 
they  kick  the  Starke  bill  into  its  grave." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can  through  the  ' Star '  to  help," 
said  Caine.  "  Just  as  I  did  fo  the  Porter-Hyde  Park 
merger  and  the  Humason  Mine  charter.  What's  the 
use  of  owning  a  newspaper  if  one  can't  boost  one's 
friends?" 

"  An'  one's  own  Steeloid  stock  at  the  same  time?  " 
supplemented  Conover.  "  We  understand  each  other 
all  right,  I  guess.  Steeloid's  goin'  to  take  a  rise,  after 


62  THE  FIGHTER 

Monday.  An'  it's  goin'  to  keep  right  on  risin'  for  the 
next  six  months." 

"  Conover,"  protested  Caine,  "  as  a  highwayman  — 
or  financier,  to  put  it  more  politely  —  you  are  a 
genius.  But  as  a  man,  you  leave  a  ghastly  amount  to 
be  desired.  Have  you  a  superstitious  fear  of  the  word 
'  Thanks  '  ?  I  offer  to  put  the  columns  of  the  '  Star  ' 
at  your  disposal.  Common  decency  at  least  should 
call  for  a  word  of  gratitude.  Or,  if  not  for  the  Steel- 
oid  matter,  at  least  for  my  championing  you  to-day  at 
the  Club.  Surely  that  wasn't  in  the  interest  of  your 
wonderful  Steeloid  stock." 

Conover  plodded  ahead  glumly  for  some  moments. 
Then  he  observed,  as  though  turning  to  a  pleasanter 
subject : 

"  In  the  part  of  that  Napoleon  book  I  read  it  told 
how  the  old-line,  patent-leather  'ristocrats  of  France 
fell  over  each  other  to  do  things  that  would  make  a 
hit  with  the  big  '  hold-up  man '.  Wasn't  it  real 
gen'rous  of  'em?  But  then,  maybe  Napoleon  had  a 
cute  little  way  of  sayin'  *  Thanks,'  oftener'n  /  do." 


CHAPTER  V 

AN    INTERLUDE 

"  Why  folks  should  drink  tea  when  they're  not 
thirsty,  an'  gobble  sweet  crackers  when  they're  not 
hungry,'  observed  Conover,  impersonally,  as  he  bal 
anced  his  cup  and  saucer  on  one  thick  palm  and  stared 
at  the  tea  as  though  it  might  turn  and  rend  him,  "  is 
somethin'  I  never  could  make  out.  As  far  as  I  can 
learn,  s'ciety  is  made  up  of  doin'  things  you  don't  want 
to  at  times  you  don't  need  to." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  afternoon  tea,"  quoted  De- 
siree, 

"  To  appeal  to  a  person  like  me. 
There's  too  little  to  eat, 
.What  there  is  is  too  sweet. 
And  I  feel  like  a  cow  up  a  tree." 

"  And,"  improvised  Caine, 

"  In  Boston  we  threw  away  tea 

Because  of  King  George's  decree. 

When  England  disputed, 

We  just  revoluted. 

Hurray  for  the  Land  of  the  Free ! 

63 


64  THE  FIGHTER 

"  And  now  that  we've  all  testified,"  he  added,  "  may 
I  please  have  another  cup?  If  not,  I'm  going  to  keep 
on  repeating  insipid  verses  till  I  get  it." 

The  two  men  had  dropped  in  at  the  Shevlin  house 
on  their  way  from  the  Arareek  Club.  Desiree  had  lis 
tened  delightedly  to  Caleb's  expurgated  account  of  the 
Committee  meeting,  and  at  the  story's  close  had  rung 
for  tea.  Caine  was  a  prime  favorite  of  hers.  Caleb 
was  wont  to  lean  back  and  listen  in  unaffected  admi 
ration  to  their  talk  — about  one-half  of  which  he  could 
understand.  His  hazarded  remark  about  tea  had  been 
thus  far  the  Fighter's  only  contribution  to  the  chatter. 
Emboldened  by  it  he  now  ventured  a  second  observa 
tion. 

"  I  see  by  the  '  Star ',"  said  he,  "  that  there's  goin' 
to  be  a  blowout  up  at  the  Standishes',  week  after  next. 
A  dinner  party  and  a  musicle.  Whatever  a  musicle 
may  be.  You're  goin'  of  course,  Caine?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Caine,  adding  flippantly,  "  of  course 
you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Caleb,  slowly,  "  I  think  I  am." 

*  You're  not  in  earnest  ?  "  cried  Desiree,  surprised. 

"  I'm  in  earnest  all  right.  It'll  be  a  big  affair.  I 
think  I'll  go  to  the  musicle  an'  the  dinner  too." 

"  But  I  didn't  know  you  knew  any  of  the  Stand 
ishes  except  — " 

"  I  don't  yet.  But  I  will  by  then.  I'll  get  asked. 
You're  goin'  to  the  musicle  part  of  it  with  Mrs.  Ha- 
warden,  ain't  you,  Dey?  You  said  somethin'  about  it 
yesterday.  Well,  you'll  see  me  there.  Say ! "  as  a 


AN  INTERLUDE  65 

new  idea  struck  him,  "  how'd  you  like  to  be  asked  to 
the  dinner,  too?  That's  the  excloosive  part  of  the 
whole  show.  Only  about  a  dozen  guests.  More'n  a 
couple  of  hundred  at  the  musicle.  Want  to  go  to  the 
dinner?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  a  crazy 
idea!  As  if  you  could  get  me  an  invitation,  even  if  I 
did  want  to !  " 

"  Oh,  I  could  get  it  all  right,"  urged  Caleb.  "  I'm 
goin'  myself." 

Caine,  who  had  dropped  wholly  out  of  the  talk,  rose 
to  go.  There  was  a  curious  restraint  about  his  man 
ner  as  he  bade  Desiree  goodbye. 

"Well,  Caleb  Conover!"  rebuked  Desiree  as  soon 
as  she  and  the  Fighter  were  left  alone.  "  Of  all  the 
historically  idiotic  plunges  into  other  peoples'  green 
houses  I  ever  saw !  " 

"  What've  I  done  now  ?  "  asked  Caleb  in  due  hu 
mility. 

"  What  haven't  you  done  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  Don't 
you  know  Mr.  Caine  is  engaged  to  Letty  Standish?  " 

"  I'd  forgotten  for  the  minute.     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  There  you  sat  and  boasted  you'd  be  invited  to 
dinner  at  her  house!  When  you  don't  even  know 
her.  What  am  I  to  do  with  you?  I've  a  great  mind 
to  make  you  drink  two  more  cups  of  tea !  " 

"  I  don't  see  yet  what  the  row  is,"  he  pleaded. 
"  But  I've  riled  you,  Dey.  I'm  awful  sorry.  I 
oughtn't  to  come  here  when  there's  civilized  folks 
callin'.  I  only  make  you  ashamed,  an' — " 


66  THE  FIGHTER 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,"  she  cried,  angrily,  her 
big  eyes  suddenly  growing  moist,  "  never  to  say  such 
things?  You  know  they  hurt  me!" 

"  Why  should  it  hurt  anyone  when  I  talk  of  goin' 
to  a—  ?" 

"  I'm  not  speaking  about  the  dinner.  It's  about 
your  not  coming  to  see  me.  If  people  don't  like  to 
meet  my  chum,  they  needn't  call  on  me.  As  for  be 
ing  'ashamed'  of  you — here!  Take  this  cup  of  tea 
and  drink  it.  Drink  it,  I  say.  And  when  you  finish 
you  must  drink  another.  All  of  it.  With  sugar  in 
it.  Two  lumps.  I  don't  care  if  you  do  hate  sweet 
things.  You've  got  to  be  punished !  Drink  it !  " 

Conover  obediently  gulped  down  the  loathed  liquid 
and  held  out  his  cup  with  an  air  of  awkward  contri 
tion,  for  the  second  instalment  of  his  penance. 

"  Now,  do  I  get  forgiven?  "  he  begged.  "  It's  vile 
stuff.  An'  I  drank  every  drop,  Dey.  Please  be 
friends  again.  Aw,  please  do !  " 

"  You  big  overgrown  baby ! "  she  said  looking 
laughingly  down  into  his  red,  remorseful  face.  "  You 
talk  very,  very  loudly  about  being  a  '  grown  man ', 
and  a  financier.  And  some  of  the  papers  call  you 
'  Brute  '  Conover  —  the  wretched  sheets !  But  you're 
only  about  ten  years  old.  No  one  knows  you  except 
me.  To  the  others  you  may  be  able  to  talk  as  if  you 
were  grown  up,  but  it  never  imposes  on  me  for  a  min 
ute." 

'That's     right,"     he     assented     wonderingly.     "I 
never  thought  of  it  that  way  before.     I  don't  know 


AN  INTERLUDE  67 

why  it  is  except  maybe  because  I  never  had  any  boy 
hood  or  had  a  chance  to  be  young.  I  seem  to  have 
been  born  grown  up  an'  on  the  lookout  to  get  the  best 
of  the  next  feller.  Then,  when  I  get  with  you,  I  lose 
about  twenty  years  and  feel  like  a  kid.  It's  great  to 
be  that  way.  Nobody  else  ever  makes  me  feel  so." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  mocked  the  girl.  "  Your  other 
friends  are  fossly  people  all  about  a  million  years  old. 
And  you  look  on  me  as  a  child  and  try  to  talk  and  act 
down  to  my  level.  It  is  very  humiliating.  I'm  nearly 
twenty  and  quite  grown  up  and  — " 

"  Your  eyes  are,  anyhow,"  commented  Caleb. 
"  They're  two  sizes  too  large  for  your  face." 

"  Is  that  a  compliment  ?     If  it  is  — " 

"  I  don't  know,"  pursued  Conover.  "  I  never  no 
ticed  how  big  they  was  till  one  day  when  you  were 
drinkin'  ice-tea.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  it  struck  me 
that  if  your  eyes  wasn't  so  big  you'd  be  li'ble  to  tumble 
into  your  glass.  Now  you're  mad  again !  "  he  sighed. 
"  But  it's  true.  You're  awful  little.  You  don't  much 
more'n  come  up  to  my  elbow." 

"  When  you're  quite  through  saying  woozzey 
things  about  my  size  and  my  eyes,"  said  Desiree, 
coldly,  "perhaps  you  won't  mind  talking  of  some 
thing  sensible  ?  " 

"If  you'd  just  as  leave,"  hesitated  Caleb,  "  I'd  like 
to  talk  a  little  'bout  what  you  said  a  few  minutes  ago. 
About  my  bein'  young.  You  don't  get  it  quite  right. 
I'm  not  young  an'  I  never  was  or  will  be, —  except 
with  yon.  "When  you  an'  me  are  together,  some  part 


68  THE  FIGHTER 

of  me  that  I  don't  gener'lly  know  is  there,  seems  to 
take  charge.  Maybe  I  don't  explain  it  very  clear.  I 
don't  seem  quite  to  understand  it  myself.  Here's  the 
idee :  D'you  remember  that  measly  little  green-covered 
French  book  I  found  you  cryin'  over,  once?  The 
1  Vee  '  of  something." 

"  You  mean  Barriere's  '  Vie  de  Bohemef ' " 

"  That's  it.  The  French  play  you  said  was  wrote 
from  a  book  by  some  other  parly-voo  chap.  You  told 
me  the  story  of  it,  I  remember.  It  didn't  make  much 
of  a  hit  with  me  at  the  time,  an'  I  couldn't  quite  see 
where  the  cry  come  in.  But  I  got  to  thinkin'  of  it 
when  you  spoke  just  now.  Remember  the  chap  in 
there  who  told  the  girl  she  was  his  Youth  an'  that  if 
it  wasn't  for  her  he'd  be  nothin'  but  just  a  plain  grown 
man?  'Twas  her  that  kep'  him  feelin'  like  a  boy. 
An'  then  when  she  died  —  let's  see  — what  was  it  he 
hollered?  Something 'bout — " 

" '  O,  ma  Jeunesse,  c'est  vous  qu'on  enterre," 
quoted  Desiree. 

"  Maybe  so,"  assented  Caleb,  doubtfully.  "  It 
sounds  like  a  Chinee  laundry  ticket  to  me.  That  was 
the  part  you  were  cryin'  over,  too.  What  is  it  in  Eng 
lish?" 

"'Oh  my  Youth,  it  is  you  they  are  burying!' 
translated  the  girl. 

"  That's  the  answer,"  said  Conover,  gravely. 
"  Now  let's  talk  about  something  better  worth  while 
than  me.  I  was  chinnin'  with  Caine  this  afternoon 
about  you.  He  says  if  you  marry  the  right  sort  of 


AN  INTERLUDE  69 

man,  your  place  in  society's  cinched.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  " 

"  How  utterly  silly !  "  she  laughed.  "  Caleb,  this 
society  idea  of  yours  has  become  an  obsession.  What 
do  I  care  for  that  sort  of  thing?  It's  pleasant  to  be 
asked  to  houses  where  one  has  a  good  time.  That's 
all.  It's  like  eating  ice-cream  when  one  is  used  to 
bread  pudding.  I'm  not  anxions  to  eat,  drink  and 
breathe  nothing  but  ice-cream  three  times  a  day  all  the 
rest  of  my  life.  Why  should  I  want  a  'cinched  place 
in  society  '  as  you  so  elegantly  put  it  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand,"  he  insisted.  It  means 
a  lot  more'n  that.  With  your  looks  and  brains  an' 
—  an'  the  big  lot  of  cash  your  father  left  you, —  you 
could  make  no  end  of  a  hit  there.  You'd  run  the 
whole  works  inside  of  five  years.  You'd  have  the 
same  sort  of  position  here  in  Granite  that  Mrs.  Astor 
an'  those  people  have  in  New  York.  Think  of  that, 
Dey!  It's  a  thing  you  can't  afford  to  throw  away. 
When  anyone  says  he  don't  care  to  shine  in  s'ciety, — 
well,  you  may  not  tell  him  so ;  but  you  think  it,  all  the 
same.  An'  it  'd  be  a  crime  for  you  to  miss  it  all.  If 
you  marry  the  right  sort  of  man — " 

"'The  right  sort  of  man!'  '  mimicked  Desiree, 
wrathfully,  "  Caleb,  there  are  times  when  I'd  like  to 
box  your  ears.  I  wish  you  and  Mr.  Caine  would  mind 
your  own  grubby  Steeloid  business  and  not  gabble  like 
two  old  washerwomen  about  my  affairs.  '  The  right 
sort  of  a  man  — ! '  Why, — " 

"  How'd  you  like  to  marry  Amzi  Nicholas  Caine  ?  " 


70  THE  FIGHTER 

suggested1  Conover,  tentatively.  "  Dandy  fam'ly, — 
fairly  rich  —  good  looker  —  travels  in  the  best 
crowd  — " 

"  Warranted  sound  and  kind  —  a  child  can  drive 
him —  a  good  hill  climber —  guaranteed  rustless," 
snapped  Desiree  in  lofty  contempt.  "  Caleb,  do  you 
want  to  be  made  to  drink  more  tea  ?  " 

"  Honest,  girl,  I'm  in  earnest.     He's  — " 

"  He's  engaged  to  Letty  Standish,  for  one  thing. 
And  if  he  wasn't,  I  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  and  a 
tone-deaf  piano  tuner  were  the  only  two  men  left  on 
earth." 

"  His  bein'  engaged  to  the  Standish  girl  needn't 
matter,"  urged  Caleb,  too  much  engrossed  in  her  first 
observation  to  note  the  second,  "  Because  I  can  fix 
that  all  right." 

In  spite  of  her  indignation,  Desiree  laughed  aloud. 

"  Oh,  you  great  and  wise  man !  "  she  cried.  "  How, 
may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  he  said  with  perfect  confidence, 
"  Because  I  haven't  thought  it  over.  But  I  can  fix  it. 
I  can  always  fix  things  when  I  have  to." 

"  Well,  in  this  case,"  she  retorted,  "  you  can  spare 
yourself  the  crime  of  parting  two  loving  souls  and 
fracturing  two  adoring  hearts  and  shattering  Granite's 
social  fabric  just  on  my  account.  When  I  really  want 
to  marry  and  I  find  I  can't  lure  the  shrinking  Adonis 
to  my  feet  I'll  let  you  know.  Then  you  can  try  your 
luck  at  making  him  propose." 

"  Sure,  I  will,"  promised  Conover,  in  all  seriousness, 


AN  INTERLUDE  71 

"  Just  give  me  the  word  when  the  time  comes  an'  the 
feller's  yours  for  the  askin'.  But  I'm  kind  of  dis 
appointed 'in  the  way  you  turn  Caine  down.  It  seemed 
such  a  grand  idee.  That's  one  of  the  reasons  I  asked 
him  in,  this  afternoon.  I  thought  when  you  saw  us 
together  he'd  kind  of  shine  by  contrast  with  me,  you 
know.  More'n  when  you  meet  him  with  folks  of  his 
own  sort." 

"The  contrast  was  there !  "  she  blazed.  "  It  fairly 
sizzled,  it  was  so  strong.  For  one  thing  Mr.  Caine 
has  manner.  And  you  haven't  got  even  manners. 
And  I  ought  to  hate  you  for  daring  to  talk  so  to  me. 
And  —  and  you're  the  dearest,  stupidest,  splendidest 
boy  I  know.  Now  I'm  going  to  dress  for  dinner. 
You  can  talk  to  Siegfried  Mickey  if  you  want  to  while 
I'm  gone.  But  if  you  want  to  win  his  fondness,  don't 
make  silly,  squiffy  plans  for  his  social  future." 

She  was  out  of  the  room  before  Conover  could 
frame  an  answer.  But  on  the  instant  she  had -turned 
back  long  enough  to  thrust  her  flushed  face  moment 
arily  through  the  opening  of  the  curtains  and  suggest 
demurely : 

"Caleb,  if  Mr.  Hawarden  should  ever  die,  don't 
you  think  it  would  be  nice  for  Mrs.  Hawarden  to 
marry  Billy?  It  would  make  the  dear  little  fellow's 
position  in  society  so  nice  and  secure ! " 


CHAPTER  VI 

CALEB    CONOVER   RUNS   AWAY 

The  following  Monday  morning  found  Caleb  at 
the  Capital  ready  and  waiting  for  the  battle  which 
lay  before  him.  He  had  arrived  from  Granite  late 
Sunday  night;  with  Caine  and  with  one  or  two  per 
sonal  followers  on  whose  timely  aid,  he  knew  from 
experience,  he  might  count. 

For  two  days  there  had  been  a  ceaseless  downpour 
of  rain.  Conover  and  Caine,  draped  in  long  water 
proof  coats,  stood  at  the  entrance  of  their  hotel,  look 
ing  out  on  the  flooded  streets  and  dingy,  streaming 
sky.  They  were  waiting  for  the  carriage  that  was  to 
bear  them  to  the  State  House.  Caine  glanced  ever  at 
his  watch,  his  armor  of  habitual  bored  indifference 
worn  perilously  thin.  Conover,  on  the  other  hand, 
showed  no  more  emotion  than  if  he  were  on  his  way 
to  luncheon.  As  Caine's  hand,  for  the  tenth  time, 
crept  toward  his  watch  pocket,  the  Fighter  remarked : 

"  I  can  save  you  the  trouble  of  lookin',  son,  by  tellin' 
you  the  startlin'  news  that  it's  just  about  thirty  sec 
onds  later'n  it  was  when  you  took  out  your  watch 
before.  What's  your  worry?  We're  in  lots  of  time. 
As  long  as  we  get  there  when  the  Assembly's  called  to 
order  it's  all  we  care.  I've  done  ev'rything  that  can 

72 


CALEB  CONOVER  RUNS  AWAY         73 

be  done.  All  I'm  goin'  to  the  lobby  for  is  to  jack 
those  able  statesmen  up  when  Blacarda  starts  to  stam 
pede  'em.  I've  made  my  arrangements  with  each  man 
who's  goin'  to  vote  our  way.  An',  as  I  figger  out, 
we'll  kill  that  Starke  bill  by  two  votes.  Easy  that 
many.  But  there's  four  or  five  Assemblymen  that 
need  my  fatherly  eye  on  'em  when  the  bill  comes  up. 
Otherwise  they'll  sure  bolt.  I  know  'em.  While  I'm 
there  I'm  like  your  friend  Napoleon;  worth  40,000 
men.  Or,  40,000  dollars,  if  you  like  it  better  that 
way.  I've  got  my  grip  on  the  reins.  Don't  you 
fret." 

"  I  heard  something  just  now,"  said  Caine. 
"  Something  that  it  will  surprise  you  to  learn.  I  had 
it  from  the  '  Star's '  Legislature  correspondent.  It 
seems  Blacarda  tried  to  prevent  your  coming  to  the 
Capital  at  all.  I'm  rather  surprised  at  his  playing 
such  a  trick.  But  I  suppose  it  goes  to  prove  that  a 
man  is  known  by  the  company  he  promotes.  He 
heard  you  were  due  from  Granite  on  the  5.30  train  this 
morning.  And  he  paid  the  engineer  $600  to  have  the 
locomotive  break  down  thirty  miles  from  here.  You 
would  have  been  stalled  there  until  too  late  to  be  of 
any  use.  The  Assembly  would  have  met  and — " 

"An5  stampeded,"  finished  Caleb  stolidly.  "An' 
the  Starke  bill  would've  gone  through  an'  we'd  a'  been 
licked.  Quite  so.  That's  why  I  changed  my  plans, 
the  last  minute,  an'  came  here  last  night." 

"You  knew  of  Blacarda's  move?"  cried  Caine  in 
amazement. 


74  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Son,"  yawned  Conover,  "  it's  my  business  to 
know  things.  An'  there's  plenty  little  I  don't  know 
when  it  comes  to  .22  calibre  en'mies  like  Blacarda. 
The  engineer  took  the  cash  an'  then  brought  the  whole 
story  to  me.  Us  railroad  men  pull  together,  you 
know.  I  told  him  to  keep  his  $600  an'  let  the  engine 
break  down  accordin'  to  schedule.  Then  I  came  on 
another  train  last  night.  Didn't  you  see  how  pleased 
Blacarda  looked  when  he  came  into  the  hotel?  He 
knows  he  ain't  got  a  ghost  of  a  chance  with  his  Starke 
bill,  while  I'm  on  deck  in  the  State  House  lobby. 
Here's  our  carriage.  Come  on,  since  you're  in  such 
a  hurry." 

The  two  men  splashed  out  through  the  sheets  of 
rain  toward  the  waiting  vehicle.  Caine  stood  aside 
to  let  Conover  step  in.  As  the  latter's  foot  was  on 
the  step,  the  hotel  telegraph  clerk  came  running  out, 
calling  the  Fighter's  name  and  holding  up  a  slip  of 
yellow  paper  whose  message-ink  was  still  wet. 

"Just  came!"  announced  the  clerk,  handing  Con- 
over  the  dispatch.  "  I  thought  you  were  still  in  the 
hotel.  Lucky  I  caught  you  before  you  started !  " 

Caleb  made  no  reply.  He  was  reading,  and 
re-reading,  the  telegram.  Caine,  watching  him  im 
patiently,  saw  the  Fighter's  face  turn  a  muddy  gray. 

Then,  shouting  to  the  driver :  "  Union  Station ! 
Go  like  Hell !  "  Conover  was  in  the  carriage.  Caine, 
all  at  a  loss,  had  barely  time  to  scramble  in  after  him 
before  Caleb  had  slammed  shut  the  door.  The  horses 


CALEB  CONOVER  RUNS  AWAY         75 

were  off  at  full  speed ;  the  wheels  dashing  a  cascade  of 
mud  blotches  through  the  vehicle's  lowered  sash. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  insisted  Caine,  as  Conover 
huddled  —  inert,  bulky,  wordless  —  in  one  corner ; 
"  whom  are  you  to  meet  at  the  station  ?  I  thought  all 
the  Assemblymen  — " 

"  I'm  goin'  to  catch  the  9.32  to  Granite  if  we  can 
make  it,"  growled  Conover.  "  Shut  up  an'  let  me 
think.  Here!" 

He  shoved  the  tight-squeezed  ball  of  yellow  paper 
toward  Caine.  The  latter,  as  he  took  the  telegram, 
noted  the  sudden  clammy  chill  of  the  Fighter's  hand 
and  saw  that  his  lips  were  dry  as  a  fever-patient's. 
Never  before  had  Caine  seen  him  nervous,  and  he 
turned  with  redoubled  interest  to  the  unfolding  of 
the  crumpled  dispatch.  It  bore  a  woman's  signature 
—  that  of  Desiree's  aunt  —  and  Caine,  marveling,  ran 
his  eyes  over  the  body  of  the  message : 

"  Dey  taken  dangerously  ill  last  night.  Delirious. 
Calls  for  you  all  time.  Come  if  can." 

The  banal  wording,  the  crude  phrasing  for  the 
sake  of  saving  expense  —  every  detail  of  the  telegram 
jarred  upon  Caine's  fastidious  taste.  But  a  new 
thought  made  him  turn,  incredulous,  upon  Conover. 

"  I'm  awfully,  awfully  sorry  to  hear  this,"  said  he. 
"  But  —  but  of  course  you  can't  think  of  leaving 
everything  at  the  State  House  to-day  and  — " 

"  State  House  ?  "  muttered  Conover,  dully. 

"  Don't  you  understand?  "  cried  Caine,  gripping  the 


76  THE  FIGHTER 

dazed,  limp  giant  by  the  shoulder  and  trying  to  shake 
him  back  to  his  senses.  "  Don't  you  understand  the 
Steeloid  fight  will  be  on  in  an  hour  or  so  ?  You  can't 
desert  us  and  run  off  to  Granite  like  this." 

"  Take  your  hands  off  me,"  mumbled  Conover,  pet 
tishly.  "*  Lord,  how  I  hate  to  be  pawed !  Can't  that 
driver  go  any  faster'n  a  hearse  ?  I'll  miss  the  — " 

"  Conover! "  fairly  shouted  Caine.  "  Brace  up, 
man!  What  ails  you?  I  never  saw  you  like  this. 
Have  you  lost  your  head?  The  Steeloid  fight  comes 
up,  in  the  Assembly,  to-day.  Your  fortune  and  mine 
hang  on  your  killing  the  Starke  bill.  You  say,  your 
self,  that  unless  you're  at  the  State  House  we'll  lose. 
You  can't  get  to  Granite  and  back  before  the  session 
closes.  If — " 

"  I'm  not  comin'  back,"  said  Caleb  in  utter  weari 
ness.  "  She's  —  Dey's  sick.  '  Dangerously  ill,'  the 
tel'gram  said.  An'  she's  callin'  all  the  time  for  me. 
If  the  9.32  is  on  time  I  ought  to  be  to  her  house  by 
noon.  Maybe  before." 

"Look  here,  old  man!"  pleaded  Caine.  "Of 
course  I'm  sorrier  about  Miss  Shevlin  than  I  can  say. 
But  she  will  have  the  best  possible  medical  care.  And 
you  can't  help  her  by  rushing  off  like  this.  Think  of 
all  that  depends  on  your  being  at  the  State  House, 
to-day.  You  can  catch  the  six  o'clock  train  for  Gran 
ite  this  evening,  just  as  well.  For  all  our  sakes,  don't 
desert  us  now!  If  Blacarda  gets  the  Starke  bill 
through  the  Assembly — " 

"  Don't  bother  me,"  snarled  Conover,  shifting  his 


CALEB  CONOVER  RUNS  AWAY         77 

big  body  to  move  out  of  reach  of  the  appealing  hand. 
"  What  —  what  d'ye  s'pose  can  be  the  matter  with 
her  ?  She  was  all  right  yesterday  noon.  Train  leaves 
in  four  minutes,  an' — " 

Caine  broke  in  on  the  Fighter's  speech  with  a  final 
plea  for  sanity.  He  had  an  almost  uncanny  feeling  at 
his  own  proximity  to  this  demoralized  hulk  of  what 
had  until  now  been  the  strongest  man  of  his  world. 
He  did  not  know  the  shaking,  muttering,  putty-faced 
being  who  in  a  trice  had  tossed  away  both  their  hopes 
of  fortune.  Yet  Caine  would  not  yield. 

"If  you'll  only  stay  just  long  enough  for  the  Starke 
bill  to  be  voted  on,"  he  implored.  "  You  can  have  a 
Special  to  take  you  back.  Or,  call  up  her  doctor  on 
the  long  distance  telephone  before  you  start,  and  find 
out  if  her  illness  is  really  dangerous.  Perhaps  her 
aunt  — " 

"  She's  callin'  for  me,"  reiterated  Caleb,  in  the 
same  dead  tones.  "  I  thought  about  the  long  distance 
'phone.  But  there's  no  time  for  that  before  the  9.32 
starts.  I  —  Good !  Here's  the  station !  An'  two 
minutes  to  spare." 

Out  of  the  carriage  he  jumped  and  made  off  at  a 
shambling  run  for  the  tracks ;  Caine  close  at  his  heels. 
At  the  car  platform  the  Fighter  turned;  scribbled  a 
few  lines  on  a  card  and  handed  it  to  Caine. 

"  Here,"  he  ordered  with  a  ghost  of  his  old  author 
ity.  "  Have  that  telegram  sent  off  in  a  rush.  It'll 
clear  up  the  tracks  for  me  when  we  strike  the  C.  G.  & 
X.  line,  an'  let  us  in  a  half -hour  earlier.  Do  as  I  say. 


78  THE  FIGHTER 

Don't   bother   me!     I've   no   time   to   fool   with   the 
measly  Steeloid  deal  now." 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  Caleb  Conover  stared  with 
unseeing,  glazed  eyes  at  the  gray  skies  and  rain-rotted 
fields  as  his  train  sped  toward  Granite.  He  had  a 
curious  numbness  in  his  head.  A  dumb  nausea 
gripped  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  could 
not  think  consecutively.  All  his  mind  and  body 
seemed  to  centre  around  one  hideous  truth:  Desiree 
Shevlin  was  terribly  ill.  Perhaps  dying.  She 
wanted  him.  And  he  was  not  there. 

He  had  never  known  until  now  that  he  had  an  im 
agination.  Yet,  during  the  century-long  train  ride, 
the  pressure  on  his  brain  lifted  a  bit  from  time  to 
time  and  he  could  see  the  dainty,  dark  little  head  turn 
ing  endlessly  from  side  to  side  on  its  tumbled  hot 
pillow;  the  white  face  whence  the  glow  and  life  had 
been  stricken;  the  delirium  hoarse  voice  calling  — 
ever  calling  —  for  him. 

She  had  been  so  bright,  so  happy,  so  strong  — 
only  the  day  before.  She  had  gone  driving  with  him 
after  church.  She  had  been  telling  him  about  a  coun 
try  visit  she  was  going  to  make  —  to-day  —  yes,  she 
was  to  have  started  to-day.  This  noon.  And  on  the 
same  drive  —  what  was  it  she  had  worn  ?  It  had 
gone  prettily  with  her  eyes,  whatever  it  was.  Those 
eyes  of  hers  had  such  odd,  wonderful  little  lights  in 
them.  What  color  were  they?  And  what  was  it 
Caine  had  told  her  they  held  —  oh,  yes  —  '  prisoned 


CALEB  CONOVER  RUNS  AWAY         79 

laughter.'     That  was  a  queer  sort  of  phrase.     But 
she  had  seemed  to  like  it. 

Why  hadn't  the  old  fool  who  built  the  engine  made 
one  that  could  travel  faster  than  a  hand  car  ? 

The  express  —  thanks  to  Caleb's  track-clearing  tele 
gram  — rolled  into  Granite  station  a  full  half  hour 
ahead  of  time.  Long  before  the  cars  came  to  a  lurch 
ing  halt  under  the  sheds,  Conover,  with  all  an  old-time 
railroad  man's  deftness,  had  swung  off  the  moving 
train  and  had  started  down  the  platform  at  a  run. 
Through  bevies  of  departing  passengers  he  clove  a 
rough,  unapologetic  way.  Station  hands  leaped  nim 
bly  aside  and  gazed  in  gaping  amaze  after  their  hur 
rying  President.  Past  the  platform,  through  the 
vaulted  waiting  room  toward  the  street  beyond;  and, 
at  the  outer  door  — 

"Caleb!" 

Conover  halted,  dumbfounded,  shaking,  at  the  call. 
There  in  the  doorway  he  stood,  his  face  a  dull  purple, 
his  eyes  bulging,  staring  down  at  —  Desiree  Shevlin. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  here?"  she  mar 
velled.  "  You  said  you  were  to  be  at  the  Capital  till 
to-morrow.  Isn't  it  the  squunchiest,  trickliest  day  you 
ever  saw?  If  I  hadn't  promised  ever  and  ever  so  sol 
emnly  to  go  out  to  Jean's  on  the  eleven-forty, 
I'd—" 

"Good  Lord!" 

It  was  as  though  all  the  engines  on  the  C.  G.  &  X. 
were  letting  off  steam  at  once.  And,  with  the  ejacu- 


8o  THE  FIGHTER 

lation,  the  cloud  of  horror  was  wiped  clean  from  the 
Fighter's  brain.  He  was,  on  the  moment,  his  old  self ; 
alive  and  masterful  in  every  atom  of  his  mighty  body. 

"  Caleb !  "  the  girl  was  saying,  plaintively,  as  she 
gazed  up  at  him  with  her  head  on  one  side,  "  is  your 
hat  wished  on  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  forgot ! "  he  laughed,  excitedly,  doff 
ing  the  wet  derby  with  one  hand  and  slapping  her 
vigorously  on  her  little  rain-coated  shoulder  with  the 
other.  "  I  came  all  the  way  back  to  Granite  to  tell 
you  I'm  tickled  to  death  to  see  you  lookin'  so  well. 
An' — an' — to  tell  you  I'm  goin'  to  beat  Blacarda 
yet!" 

"  Caleb  Conover! "  she  gasped.  "  What  do  you 
think  you  are  talking  about?  Are  you — " 

But  Conover  had  vanished  —  swallowed  up  in  the 
recesses  of  the  dark  station.  Desiree  looked  after 
him,  round-eyed. 

"  I  sometimes  think,"  she  confided  to  the  silver  han 
dle  of  her  umbrella,  "  that  Caleb  will  never  quite 
grow  up !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    BATTLE 

The  red-haired  man  was  fighting. 

Just  now  he  was  fighting  at  long  range.  And  all 
the  complex  system  of  the  C.  G.  &  X.  railroad  vibrated 
under  his  blows.  A  dozen  rapid-fire  orders  had  sent 
as  many  station  officials  scuttling  to  posts  of  duty. 
Already  telegraph  wires  were  sizzling;  and  employees 
miles  away  were  hustling  in  consequence,  to  fulfil  their 
master's  behests.  The  fastest  engine  on  the  C.  G.&  X. 
was  getting  up  steam.  A  dozen  frantic  machinists 
with  oil  cans,  wrenches  and  hammers  were  swarming 
over  and  under  the  huge  locomotive  making  her  ready 
for  a  record  trip.  In  the  few  minutes  that  remained, 
before  his  Special  could  start,  Caleb  Conover,  coolest, 
least  hurried  man  in  the  whole  buzzing  station,  was 
talking  over  the  long-distance  telephone  to  Caine. 

"  Yes,"  he  was  saying,  as,  cigar  in  mouth,  he 
lounged  above  the  transmitter  on  his  desk,  "  I'll  be  off 
in  three  minutes.  So  listen  hard,  for  you  are  liable 
to  have  a  wakeful  day  before  you.  I've  gave  orders 
to  side-track  everything  on  the  C.  G.  &  X.  between 
here  an'  Mclntyre  Junction.  That'll  give  us  room  for 
a  sixty-five-mile-an-hour  trip  as  far  as  the  Junction. 
After  that  I'll  be  off  the  C.  G.  &  X.  tracks  and 

8r 


82  THE  FIGHTER 

I'll  have  to  take  my  chances  of  gettin'  the  right 
of  way.  But  I  guess  a  couple  of  tel'grams  I've 
sent  will  loosen  things  up  on  the  other  road.  Re 
member,  I'm  a'  comin'  as  fast  as  steam  will  carry  me. 
Since  you  say  the  Starke  bill  ain't  come  up  yet,  there's 
a  show  of  my  gettin'  there  on  time,  after  all.  I've 
just  'phoned  Bourke,  the  Assemblyman  from  my 
Districk,  to  hold  the  crowd  together  as  well  as  he  can 
till  I  land.  What?  No,  don't  you  bother  over  that. 
He  knows  how  to  keep  the  bill  back  for  a  while,  any 
how.  Motion  to  adjourn's  always  -in  order.  He'll 
hop  up  an'  move  to  adjourn  ev'ry  five  minutes  and 
then  demand  a  poll  on  the  vote.  Good  ol'- fashioned 
fil'busterin'.  That,  an'  a  few  other  cunnin'  little  stunts 
that  I've  taught  him,  is  liable  to  delay  business  pretty 
much  in  the  Assembly  today.  My  crowd's  got  all 
their  orders.  But  Blacarda  was  a  roarin'  fool  not 
to  push  the  bill  through  early  this  mornin'.  I  s'pose 
he  figgered  out  he  had  all  day  ahead  of  him.  Him  an' 
me  will  settle  our  score  later.  So  long !  My  engine's 
ready." 

Clambering  aboard  the  locomotive  cab  the  moment 
the  last  oiler  scuttled  to  safety  from  underneath  the 
driving-wheels,  Conover  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and 
with  a  grim  smile  leaned  back  to  enjoy  the  whirlwind 
flight  through  the  rain.  He  was  happier  than  he  had 
been  in  weeks.  Not  only  through  the  quick  lifting  of 
the  horror  that  had  so  engulfed  him,  but  from  the  joy 
of  a  hard  fight  against  heavy  odds.  In  spite  of  his 
cheery  tone  toward  Caine,  he  knew  it  was  problematical 


THE  BATTLE  83 

whether  or  not  his  henchman,  Bourke,  could  retard  the 
vote  on  the  Starke  Bill  until  his  arrival.  But  it  was  a 
chance  well  worth  the  taking.  His  anxiety  for  De- 
siree  banished,  the  Fighter  turned  with  more  than 
wonted  zeal  to  the  battle  before  him. 

The  engine  thundered  over  the  miles  of  sodden  land, 
the  cab  windows  awash  with  rain ;  the  great  bulk  sway 
ing  perilously  from  its  own  reckless  speed;  the 
twisting  of  sharp  curves  more  than  once  hurling  Caleb 
headlong  from  his  seat.  Past  long  lines  of  sidetracked 
freight  and  passenger  trains  they  whizzed.  Every 
switch  along  the  line  bore  its  burden  of  cars  hustled 
off  the  main  line  by  Caleb's  commands.  The  entire 
C.  G.  &  X.  system  was  for  the  time  tied  up,  that  its 
ruler  might  travel  over  its  rails  as  no  man  had  before 
traversed  them. 

"At  this  rate,"  mused  Caleb,  "I'll  make  it,  with 
any  sort  of  luck.  If  I  can  be  sure  of  speed  on  the 
other  line  — !" 

Toward  the  latest  of  many  brown  wooden  stations 
they  flashed.  The  engineer  threw  over  a  lever.  The 
wheels  shrieked  ear-splitting  protest  as  they  gripped 
and  shaved  the  rails  in  the  shock  of  the  brake's  clutch. 

"What's  up?"  bellowed  Conover,  wrathfully. 
"Is  —  ?" 

"  Station  agent's  flagging  us,  sir,  with  the  danger 
signal,"  replied  the  engineer,  leaning  out  into  the  rain 
to  accost  a  scared,  shirtsleeved  man  who  ran  toward 
them,  flag  in  hand,  along  the  track. 

Conover  pulled  the  engineer  to  one  side  and  thrust 


84  THE  FIGHTER 

his  own  head  from  the  cab  window,  just  as  the  panting 
station  agent  came  up. 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  stoppin'  us?"  demanded  the 
Fighter. 

"  Trackwalker  reports  —  bridge  —  mile  above  — 
unsafe,  —  from  washout !  "  puffed  the  agent. 

"  He  does,  hey  ?  "  sneered  Conover,  "  An'  why  in 
blazes  didn't  you  telegraph  the  next  station  below  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  going  to,  sir,"  faltered  the  agent,  "  but 
as  there  wasn't  any  train  due  for  an  half  an  hour  —  " 

"  Is  the  bridge  still  standin'  ?  "  demanded  Conover. 

"Yes,  sir.     But  the  trackwalker  thinks  —  " 

"  I  don't  pay  him  to  think.  I'm  doin'  the  thinkin' 
this  trip.  Davis,"  wheeling  on  the  engineer,  "  I'm 
goin'  over  this  bridge.  There's  $500  on  the  other  side 
of  it  for  you.  Want  to  come  ?  Speak  up  quick !  " 

"If  —  if  it's  not  safe  — "  hesitated  the  man.  "  This 
is  the  heaviest  engine  on  the  road  and  — " 

"  Get  out  of  here,  then !  "  yelled  Conover,  ejecting 
him  bodily  from  the  cab.  The  engineer  missed  the 
step  and  tumbled  prone  in  a  blasphemous  heap,  to  the 
wet  track  side.  Conover  did  not  waste  a  second  look 
at  him,  but  slipped  into  the  driver's  place  and  threw 
off  the  brake.  He  had  served  his  term  as  engineer 
during  his  upward  flight  through  the  various  grades 
of  railroad  achievement;  and  was  as  comfortably  at 
home  at  the  throttle  as  in  his  private  car. 

The  wheels  caught  the  track  and  the  great  mass  of 
metal  sprang  into  motion. 


THE  BATTLE  85 

"Is  there  anything  else  /  can  do,  sir?"  piped  the 
obsequious  agent. 

"  No ! "  snarled  Caleb  glowering  back  at  him 
through  the  open  window.  "  If  there  was,  you. 
wouldn't  be  a  measly  thirty-dollar-a-month  station 
roustabout." 

Settling  into  his  place,  Conover  knit  his  red  brows 
and  peered  forward  through  the  downpour  and  mist, 
along  the  shining  track.  He  could  not  afford  the  time 
he  had  lost.  To  make  it  up,  every  notch  of  speed  must 
be  crowded  on.  There  was  a  fierce  exhilaration  in 
Caleb's  alert  light  eyes,  as  he  set  himself  to  his  new 
task.  The  fireman,  who  had  been  crouching  on  the 
tender,  now  worked  his  way  forward  into  the  cab. 

"  Hello !"  grunted  Conover,  crossly.  "  I'd  forgot 
you.  I  s'pose  I  got  to  slow  up  while  you  jump." 

"If  I  was  a  jumper,  sir,"  replied  the  fireman, 
quietly,  "  I'd  have  gotten  off  at  the  station." 

With  stolid  unconcern  the  fellow  set  about  stoking. 
Conover  grinned. 

"  If  we  live  past  that  bridge,"  he  remarked, 
"  You'll  make  your  next  trip  as  pass'nger  engineer. 
Steady,  now." 

The  locomotive  was  at  top  speed  once  more. 
Around  a  curve  it  tore,  listing  far  to  one  side. 
Straight  ahead,  through  the  gray  murk,  rose  the 
trestled  bridge  —  a  blur  of  brownish-red,  spanning  a 
hundred  foot  drop ;  at  whose  bottom  boiled  a  froth  of 
white  fretted  water  cut  here  and  there  by  black  lump- 


86  THE  FIGHTER 

head  boulders.  "Slow  to  10  Miles  an  Hour!"  read 
the  patch  of  signboard  at  the  bridge's  head.  At  either 
side  of  the  railroad  embankment  stood  knots  of 
country  folk,  idly  watching  the  condemned  frame 
work. 

At  sixty  miles  an  hour  the  locomotive  swept  into 
the  straightaway.  A  scattering  chorus  of  cries  rose 
from  a  dozen  lips  as  the  shadowy  giant  bulk  leaped 
out  of  the  mist. 

Then,  in  the  same  instant,  the  dull  rumble  of  wheels 
on  a  ground  track  was  changed  to  the  hollow  roaring 
roll  of  wheels  on  a  trestle.  A  jar  of  impact  —  a  sick 
ening  sway  of  the  whole  wood-and-steel  structure  —  a 
snapping,  rending  sound  from  somewhere  far  below 
—  a  wind-borne  scream  from  the  group  of  panic- 
stricken  idlers  now  a  furlong  behind;  —  and  once 
more  the  changed  key  of  the  driving  wheels'  song  told 
that  the  flimsy  bridgeway  was  succeeded  by  solid  road 
bed  beneath  the  rails. 

"  Scared  ?  "  asked  Conover,  over  his  shoulder,  to  the 
fireman. 

'  "  I've  just  been  too  near  to  death  to  feel  like  lying," 
returned  the  man  in  a  sickly  attempt  at  humor,  "  So  I 
might  as  well  own  up  that  for  a  second  or  so  I  could 
hear  a  few  harps  twanging.  My  heart's  still  some 
where  around  the  place  where  I  swallow." 

"  You've  got  grit,"  vouchsafed  the  Fighter,  strain 
ing  his  eyes  to  pierce  through  the  mist  in  front  of  them, 
"  Man's  made  of  dust,  the  parsons  say ;  but  I  guess 
there  was  plenty  of  sand  sprinkled  in  yours  an'  mine. 


THE  BATTLE  87 

An'  I  like  you  better  for  not  bein'  ashamed  to  tell  you 
was  afraid.  The  brave  man  aint  the  one  who  don't 
get  scared;  he's  the  feller  who's  scared  stiff  and  goes 
ahead  just  the  same.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  change 
that  new  job  of  yours  from  pass'nger  engineer  to 
somethin'  in  my  own  office.  Now,  chase  back  to  your 
work.  I've  got  other  things  to  think  of  besides 
jawin'  with  you." 

The  Junction  was  reached  and  passed.  No  longer 
on  his  own  road,  Conover  was  less  certain  that  the 
way  would  be  left  clear  for  him.  Yet  his  telegrams 
had  had  effect.  The  line  was  open,  and  he  sent  his 
locomotive  along  with  no  let-up  in  its  terrific  speed. 

"  I'll  make  it,"  he  said  once,  under  his  breath.  "  If 
Bourke  can  only  hold  'em  —  if  he  can  only  hold  'em !  " 

Over  went  the  lever,  and  with  another  shrill  shriek 
the  engine  slackened  speed.  They  had  rounded  a 
bend.  Directly  in  front  was  a  station.  Beside  it 
stood  a  long  train,  blocking  the  single  track  In  a 
bound,  Conover  was  out  of  the  cab.  Shouting  to  the 
fireman  to  follow,  he  set  off  at  a  run  through  the  mud 
puddles  that  lined  the  right  of  way. 

"  Whatcher  stoppin'  for?"  he  demanded  of  the  con 
ductor  who  stood  by  one  of  the  rear  cars. 

"  Waiting  for  the  Directors  of  the  road,"  answered 
the  conductor.  "  They're  lunching  up  at  the  Presi 
dent's  house.  They  were  due  here  three  minutes  ago. 
This  train's  a  local,  so  we're  holding  it  till  — " 

Conover  heard  no  more  but  broke  again  into  a  run ; 
heading  for  the  engine. 


88  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Do  you  mind  gettin'  into  trouble?  "  he  panted  to 
the  fireman  at  his  side,  "  I'll  stand  by  you." 

"  You're  the  boss,"  replied  the  man,  laconically,  put 
ting  on  a  fresh  burst  of  speed  to  keep  up  with  his  em 
ployer. 

"  Good !  I'm  goin'  to  steal  that  engine.  You  un 
couple  her  an'  scramble  aboard.  I'll  'tend  to  the 
crew." 

They  had  reached  the  locomotive  as  he  spoke.  The 
engineer  had  left  his  cab  and  was  stretching  his 
cramped  legs  on  the  platform.  His  fireman  lolled 
from  the  window,  smoking  a  pipe.  Conover,  never 
breaking  his  stride,  swung  aboard  the  cab  and  threw 
open  the  throttle;  the  same  moment  his  follower 
yanked  loose  the  old-fashioned  coupling  pin,  disen 
gaged  the  air  brake  and  gained  the  tender  with  a  flying 
leap. 

The  whole  transaction  was  completed  before  either 
the  engine's  crew  knew  what  was  going  on.  The 
rightful  fireman  found  himself  toppled  from  the  cab 
straight  into  the  arms  of  the  engineer,  who  with  a 
yell  had  sprung  aboard.  The  two,  clasped  lovingly  in 
each  other's  arms,  rolled  swearing  into  a  roadside 
mud-puddle ;  —  and  the  locomotive  was  off. 

Conover,  at  the  throttle,  laughed  aloud  in  keen  de 
light  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  engineless  train,  the  two 
bedraggled  figures  and  the  crowd  that  came  running 
excitedly  along  the  platform. 

"  This  old  rattler  ain't  a  patch  on  the  one  we  left 
behind,"  he  chuckled,  "  but  she  seems  able  to  make 


THE  BATTLE  89 

some  speed  for  all  that.  Gee,  but  I'll  have  my  hands 
full  squarin'  myself  with  the  Pres'dent  of  this  road! 
I'm  li'ble  to  hear  some  fine  language  an'  maybe  have  a 
nice  little  suit  to  compromise,  too.  But  we'll  get  there. 
It'd  a'  held  us  up  half  an  hour  or  more,  to  wait  for 
that  measly  local  to  hit  a  switch.  Ever  steal  an  en 
gine  before,  son?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  fireman,  "  and  I'm  just  wondering 
how  I'll  look  in  striped  clothes." 

"  You'll  be  all  right.  Take  that  from  me.  It 
means  promotion.  That's  all.  If  our  trip  lasts  long 
enough,  you're  li'ble  to  be  Pres'dent  of  the  C.  G.  &  X. 
at  this  rate.  Say,  I  wonder  when  this  engine  took  on 
water  last.  Look  an'  see." 

"  All  right  for  the  rest  of  the  run,"  reported  the 
fireman,  on  his  return.  "  But  suppose  they  telegraph 
ahead  and  have  us  run  into  an  open  switch  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  that.  But  they  won't.  In  the  first 
place,  they  won't  risk  smashin'  a  good  engine.  In 
the  second, —  Hell!  Ain't  I  Caleb  Conover?" 

A  hatless  man, — dripping  wet,  mud-smeared, 
grimy  as  a  coal  heaver, —  took  the  State  House  steps 
three  at  a  stride.  In  less  than  two  minutes  it  was 
known  throughout  the  Assembly  that  Caleb  Conover 
had  come.  A  word  here,  a  hint  there,  a  pulling  of 
mysterious  wires :  —  and  the  wavering  backbones  of 
his  more  doubtful  satellites  in  the  Legislature  were 
miraculously  stiffened.  The  Starke  Bill  had  not  yet 
come  to  a  vote;  thanks  to  Bourke  and  his  colleagues 


90  THE  FIGHTER 

who  had  wearied  the  Assembly  to  desperation  and 
maddened  Blacarda  to  frenzy  by  a  continuous  series  of 
the  most  glaring  filibuster  tactics.  But  even  the  Con- 
over  faction's  tactics  had,  at  the  last,  wellnigh  ex 
hausted  themselves. 

"  In  another  five  minutes,"  Caine  was  explaining, 
"  you'd  have  been  too  late.  Nothing  could  have 
stopped  the  bill  from — " 

"  Another  five  minutes !  "  mocked  Conover,  turning 
from  his  work.  "  Son,  this  ain't  the  first,  nor  yet 
the  millionth  time  that  a  diff'rence  of  five  minutes  has 
knocked  hist'ry  into  a  cocked  hat.  Now,  send  Mc- 
Guckin  to  me.  He  needs  a  little  more  beguilin'.  An' 
I'm  here  to  give  it  to  him.  Chase,  now!  He's  the 
last  I'll  have  time  to  see,  before  the  vote." 

Conover  did  not  so  much  as  trouble  to  go  to  the 
Assembly  gallery  with  Caine  when  the  Starke  bill  came 
up  for  balloting;  but  sat  smoking  and  glancing  over 
papers  in  the  Committee  room  that  he  had  com 
mandeered  as  his  personal  office.  Hither,  soon  after 
ward,  Caine  repaired;  his  handsome,  tired  face  alight. 

"  We  win !  "  he  announced  triumphantly.  "  The 
bill's  defeated, — by  two  votes.  Congratulations !  " 

"  Son,"  observed  Conover,  glancing  up  from  his 
desk,  "  what's  all  the  excitement  ?  I  told  you  last 
Friday  that  we'd  win  by  two  votes.  Now,  maybe, 
you'll  believe,  another  time,  that  I  know  what  I'm 
talkin'  about.  Where's  Blacarda  ?  " 

"  I  passed  him  in  the  corridor  on  his  way  back  to 


THE  BATTLE  91 

the  hotel.     Why  do  you  ask?     You're  done  with  him 
now." 

"Done  with  him?"  echoed  Conover.  "  Why: 
man,  I  ain't  begun  with  him  yet.  I  was  just  waitin' 
to  find  where  he'd  gone.  So  long.  See  you  at  the 
hotel  before  train  time." 

Conover  walked  out  of  the  office,  leaving  Caine  star 
ing  after  him  in  perplexity.  Straight  to  the  hotel  the 
Fighter  drove.  Arriving  there  he  went,  unannounced, 
to  Blacarda's  room;  entered  without  knocking,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Blacarda  looked  up  from  the  task  of  packing  his 
suit  case.  Bareheaded,  still  grimy  and  disheveled, 
Conover  stood  facing  him.  Blacarda  rose  from  his 
knees  beside  the  open  suit  case  and  started  forward. 

"  I  guess  you  know  why  I'm  here  ? "  hazarded 
Caleb,  looking  across  at  the  well-groomed  figure,  with 
out  the  faintest  trace  of  emotion. 

"  To  crow  over  your  dirty,  underhand  victory  of 
today?  "  blazed  the  other.  "  If  so  you  can  save  your 
self  the  trouble.  Leave  my  room  at  once.  I  don't 
wish  it  polluted  or  — " 

"  It'll  have  to  stand  a  little  more  polootion  before 
I'm  ready  to  go,"  answered  Conover,  unmoved. 
"  No,  I  haven't  come  to  crow.  Crowin'  ain't  in  my 
line.  A  little  while  ago  I  set  a  man  to  tracin'  a 
tel'gram  I  got  this  mornin'.  It  seems  you  wrote  it 
an'  paid  the  /iotel  tel'graph  clerk  $10  to  slip  it  to  me 
at  the  right  time.  Don't  lie.  I've  got  proof." 


92  THE  FIGHTER 

"  I'm  not  given  to  lying,"  retorted  Blacarda. 
"  And  if  I  were,  I  shouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  lie  to 
a  blackleg  like  you.  Yes,  I  wrote  the  telegram. 
What  of  it?" 

"  You're  a  sweet-scented  sort  of  a  cuss  to  preach 
about  'dirty,  underhand  vict'ries,'  ain't  you?"  said 
Caleb,  thoughtfully.  "  After  tryin'  to  get  me  out  of 
the  way  like  that." 

"  Any  weapon  is  justifiable  against  a  scoundrel," 
sneered  Blacarda.  "  One  must  fight  fire  with  fire." 

"  Quite  so,"  assented  Caleb.  "  Though  not  as  orig 
inal  as  I'd  'a  expected  from  a  clever  chap  like  you. 
Fightin'  fire  with  fire  is  good  finance.  So  when  you 
tipped  an  engineer  $600  to  get  me  delayed  in  comin' 
here,  I  made  no  kick.  That  was  fair  game.  I'd 
a'  done  the  same  thing  myself.  Only  I  wouldn't  a' 
bungled  it  like  you  did.  When  you're  goin'  to  do  a 
crooked  thing  do  it  well.  Don't  foozle  it  an'  lose  your 
fight.." 

"  I  haven't  your  experience  in  hold-up  tactics,"  an 
swered  Blacarda,  "  so  perhaps  I  — ' 

Caleb  waved  aside  the  interpolation  and  went  on  in 
the  same  heavy,  emotionless  voice. 

"  That  was  all  fair,  like  I  said.  But  it  failed. 
Then,  what'd  you  do  ?  Dragged  a  woman's  name  into 
the  row.  Faked  a  dispatch  tellin'  me  she  was  dyin' 
an'  callin'  for  me.  That's  a  trick  /  wouldn't  play  if 
my  life  was  hangin'  on  a  deal.  You  used  that  little 
girl's  name  to  get  me  away.  You  put  up  that  filthy 
job, —  an'  took  another  man  into  your  conf'dence. 


THE  BATTLE  93 

Told  a  measly,  tattlin'  tel'graph  clerk  about  her. 
I  ain't  any  good  at  expressin'  myself.  But  say!  I 
wish  I  could  get  it  through  that  shiny  head  of  yours 
what  a  rotten,  low  down,  crawly  cur  you  are!  No, 
don't  put  on  no  heroics!  I'm  doin'  the  talkin'  now. 
In  the  fake  tel'gram,  you  used  the  nickname  you've 
heard  her  called.  You  used  the  knowledge  that  I'd 
hustle  from  here  to  hell  if  I  could  be  of  use  to  her. 
You  used  all  that  as  means  to  get  me  away  from  your 
p'litical  dogfight  today.  An'  how  did  you  get  your 
knowledge  of  her  nickname  an'  'bout  my  carin'  for  her 
as  if  she  was  my  own  kid?  Hey?  You  got  it  while 
you  was  callin'  on  her.  While  you  was  takin'  her 
hosp'tality.  You  used  that  kind  of  trick  in  politics! 
God !  I  didn't  think  there  was  a  breathin'  man  could 
do  such  a  thing.  No  ward-heeler  could  do  it  —  it 
had  to  be  done  by  a  *  gentleman.'  One  of  the  Ara- 
reek  Governors." 

He  paused  for  breath.  Blacarda,  reddening  under 
the  tirade's  lash,  nevertheless  sought  to  laugh. 

"  Well,"  he  queried  with  really  excellent  coolness, 
"  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  Of  course  you 
can  bring  suit, —  and  probably  recover.  But  Miss 
Shevlin's  name  will  certainly  figure  rather  unpleasantly 
in  the  newspaper  reports  of  the  case.  I'm  sorry  I  was 
forced  to  use  such  means, —  I  still  believe  them  justifi 
able  in  dealing  with  a  man  like  you, —  but  I  fail  to  see 
what  redress  you  have." 

;<  You'll  see  presently,"  replied  Caleb,  with  no  trace 
of  threat  in  his  dull  voice.  "  That's  why  I'm  here. 


94  THE  FIGHTER 

I'm  not  totin'  this  into  court.  What  good  would  your 
measly  damage  money  do  me?  An'  I'm  not  goin'  to 
tell  your  friends  of  it  with  the  hope  they'd  turn  you 
out  of  s'ciety.  I'm  goin'  to  punish  you  the  only  way 
a  rotten  trick  like  that  can  be  punished.  The  only 
way  a  skunk  like  you  could  be  made  to  smart." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Blacarda,  a  shadow 
of  uneasiness  showing  through  his  rage. 

"  I  mean  I've  come  here  to  give  you  the  biggest 
thrashin'  you  ever  got.  An'  now's  the  time  I  begin." 

Blacarda,  at  the  slow  forward  motion  of  Caleb's 
body,  sprang  furiously  at  the  Fighter.  He  was  a 
strong  man;  large  and  well  built.  But  he  might  as 
well  have  tried  to  stop  the  rush  of  a  charging  bull- 
elephant  as  to  block  Caleb's  attack.  Not  even  taking 
the  pains  to  guard  the  h^avy  left-hander  that  Bla 
carda  drove  full  into  his  face,  Conover  was  upon  his 
foe. 

Backward  across  the  room  Caleb  drove  the  other 
with  a  lightning  succession  of  short  arm  blows  that 
battered  down  Blacarda's  guard  and  smashed  with 
fearful  force  upon  his  head  and  body.  To  escape 
the  merciless  hail  of  fists,  Blacarda  ducked  and 
clinched. 

Conover  shook  him  off  as  though  his  antagonist  had 
been  a  cripple,  and  ran  in  again  to  the  assault.  One 
right  hand  blow  crashed  into  Blacarda's  face  and 
hurled  him  backward  against  the  wall.  As  he  re 
bounded  forward  from  sheer  shock  of  the  double 


THE  BATTLE  95 

impact,  Conover's  left  fist  caught  him  flush  on  the  jaw 
and  he  collapsed  senseless  to  the  floor. 

Conover  was  at  the  unconscious  body  before  it  had 
fairly  touched  ground.  He  beat  with  insane  rage 
upon  the  upturned,  defenseless  face,  hammering  it  to 
a  pulp ;  growling  and  whining  all  the  time  between  his 
hard-set  teeth;  like  some  rabid  jungle  beast  worrying 
its  meat. 

Caine  flung  open  the  door  and  ran  into  the  room; 
—  thereby  in  all  probability  saving  Blacarda's  life. 
Taking  in  the  scene  at  a  glance,  he  launched  himself 
upon  the  growling,  mauling  victor.  With  all  his  wiry 
strength,  he  sought  to  drag  Conover  away  from  the 
senseless  man.  But  his  utmost  muscular  power  was 
as  nothing  to  that  of  the  giant  who  was  still  wreaking 
brute  vengeance  on  the  inert  mass  beneath  him. 

At  length,  employing  a  wrestling  device,  Caine 
managed  to  drag  the  unprepared  Fighter  backward, 
from  behind;  and  by  a  sudden  wrench  to  throw  him 
to  one  side.  Still  keeping  behind  Conover,  out  of 
reach  of  the  hammer-fists,  the  slighter  man  succeeded 
in  pinioning  Caleb's  arms  by  slipping  his  own  hands 
and  wrists  between  the  other's  elbows  and  his  body. 
Trussed  up,  helpless  as  he  was,  Caleb  writhed  and 
snarled  like  a  leashed  bulldog.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  wrenched  himself  free  by  dint  of  main 
force,  had  not  Caine's  voice  at  last  penetrated  the  red 
wrath-mists  of  his  brain. 

"  Conover !  "  his  friend  was  shouting,  for  the  tenth 


96  THE  FIGHTER 

time,  "  if  you  kill  him,  Miss  Shevlin's  name  will  be 
brought  into  the  affair!  Can't  you  see  that?  If — " 

Conover's  iron-tense  muscles  relaxed.  The  or 
gasm  of  Berserk  rage  had  passed,  leaving  him  spent 
and  apathetic.  Caine  knew  that  sanity  had  returned 
to  the  Fighter,  and  he  released  his  grip  on  the  mighty 
arms. 

"  Well !  "  he  observed,  facing  the  dazed,  panting 
man,  and  setting  to  rights  his  own  tumbled  clothing, 
"  You  are  a  nice  specimen  of  humanity  to  have  at 
large  in  a  civilized  country!  You  might  have  killed 
him.  You  would  have  killed  him,  I  believe,  if  I 
hadn't  come  when  I  did.  I  got  to  thinking  over  what 
you  said  at  the  State  House  and  I  was  afraid  some 
thing  like  this  would  happen.  So  I  came  on.  Just  in 
time,  I  think." 

Caine,  as  he  spoke,  had  knelt  beside  the  battered, 
bleeding  Thing  on  the  floor.  Now  he  crossed  to  the 
washstand  and  came  back  with  a  soaked  towel.  Talk 
ing  as  he  worked  over  the  unconscious  figure,  he 
added : 

"  You  were  right  to  thrash  him.  He  richly  de 
served  it.  But,  why  the  deuce  did  you  keep  on  pum- 
meling  him  while  he  was  down?  Does  that  strike 
you  as  sportsmanlike?  " 

"  Sportsmanlike  ? '  panted  Conover,  his  big  voice 
still  shaking  with  ground-swells  of  the  storm  that  had 
mastered  him,  "  Sportsmanlike,  hey  ?  D'ye  s'pose 
I  came  here  for  a  measly  athletic  contest?  I  came 


THE  BATTLE  97 

here  to  lick  that  curly,  perfumed  whelp.     An'  I  did  it." 

"  You  hit  him  when  he  was  down,"  answered  Caine,, 
crossing  again  from  the  washstand  and  dashing  cold 
water  in  Blacarda's  shapeless  face.  "  And  — " 

"  Of  course  I  hit  him  when  he  was  down!  "  snorted 
Caleb.  "  What  d'ye  s'pose  I  was  goin'  to  do  ?  Help 
him  up  an'  brush  off  his  clo'es?  Gee,  it  makes  me 
sick  to  hear  that  old  fossil  rot  about  *  not  hittin'  a  man 
when  he's  down ! '  What  in  thunder's  the  use  of 
gettin'  him  down  if  you  ain't  goin'  to  hit  him?  I 
didn't  come  here  for  a  friendly  boxin'  bout.  I  came 
to  pay  Blacarda  off.  An'  he  wasn't  to  be  paid  off  by 
one  little  tap  that'd  knock  him  over.  That  was  just 
the  start.  I  guess  he'll  know  enough  by  now  to  let 
Dey  Shevlin's  name  alone." 

Caine  made  no  answer.  He  was  deftly  applying 
the  simple  prize-ring  expedients  for  restoring  beaten 
pugilists  to  their  senses.  Conover  looked  down  at  him 
in  profound  contempt. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  the  Fighter,  "  I  s'pose  in  your  gold- 
shirt  world,  folks  would  say  I  was  all  kinds  of  a  cad 
to  keep  on  punishin'  that  swine  after  I'd  bowled  him 
off  his  legs.  But  them  same  folks  will  jump  with 
both  feet  on  a  business  man  when  there's  a  rumor 
that  he's  broke.  They'll  join  in  a  run  on  a  bank  that's 
in  trouble.  Their  saintly  women'll  take  pious  joy  in 
chasin'  to  hell  some  poor  girl  who's  made  a  fool  of 
herself.  But  they'd  roll  up  their  eyes  at  the  sight  of 
me  lickin'  Blacarda  after  he's  keeled  over.  What'n 


98  THE  FIGHTER 

blazes  is  the  use  of  gettin'  a  man  down  if  you  ain't 
goin'  to  hit  him?  It's  the  A.  B.  C.  of  business. 
Why,  Caine,  you  make  me  tired !  " 

His  eyes  fell  on  his  own  torn,  bleeding  knuckles. 
He  gazed  at  them  in  slow  surprise;  then  sauntered 
over  to  bathe  them.  The  glass  above  the  washstand 
revealed  to  him  a  face  pasty  white,  smeared  with  coal- 
dust  smears  and  blood,  and  swollen  from  a  blow  on 
the  mouth. 

"  I'm  an  engagin*  lookin'  spectacle,  all  right,"  he 
soliloquized  as  he  bent  to  wash.  "  Lucky  I  left  my 
suit-case  at  the  hotel  this  morning.  I'll  need  a  lot  of 
dressin'  and'  massagin'  before  I  can  go  to  see  Dey." 

Blacarda  groaned  feebly,  and  moved  his  head. 

"  He's  coming  around,"  reported  Caine.  "  Now 
I'm  goin'  to  telephone  down  for  the  hotel  doctor. 
While  he's  on  his  way  here  you  can  think  of  some 
story  to  tell  him  that  will  account  for  Blacarda's  con 
dition." 

"  I'll  tell  him  the  truth,"  said  Caleb,  simply.  "  All 
except  the  part  about  Dey.  An'  I  guess  Blacarda 
ain't  likely  to  tell  that,  either.  But  what's  the  use  of 
a  doctor  ?  The  cur's  gettin'  his  senses  back." 

"I  think  you  fractured  at  least  one  of  his  ribs,  when 
your  knee  was  jammed  down  on  his  chest,"  answered 
Caine.  "  It  feels  so  to  me.  Besides,  unless  his  face 
is  to  be  distorted  and  hideous  for  life  it  must  have 
medical  care  at  once." 

Blacarda  lifted  his  unrecognizable  visage  and 
opened  the  one  eye  which  was  not  wholly  hidden  from 


THE  BATTLE  99 

view  by  his  swollen  flesh.  Caine  raised  the  injured 
man  to  a  sitting  posture  and  held  a  whiskey  flask  to 
the  torn,  discolored  lips.  Through  the  hedge  of 
smashed  teeth  and  down  the  swelled  throat  the  sting 
ing  liquor  glided.  Blacarda  gulped  it  down,  sat  mo 
tionless  for  a  moment,  then  groaned  again  and  looked 
about  him. 

"  Well,"  growled  Caleb,  "  do  you  want  any  more?  " 

One  long  second  Blacarda  .squinted  vacantly  at  his 
conqueror.  Then,  with  a  shuddering  scream  of  ter 
ror,  he  buried  his  mangled  face  in  Caine's  shoulder 
and  lay  there,  quivering  and  sobbing. 

"  What  a  beast  you  are,  Conover ! "  exclaimed 
Caine,  in  revolt. 

"That's  right,"  assented  Caleb,  cheerfully.  "But 
I've  just  broke  a  worse  one.  Broke  him  body  an' 
spirit.  Not  such  a  bad  day's  work !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CALEB    CONOVER    STORMS    A    RAMPART 

Caleb  Conover  was  finishing  a  solitary  breakfast 
in  his  room;  the  morning  after  his  return  from  the 
Capital.  He  had  eaten  heartily,  even  as  he  had  slept 
well;  and  was  neither  outwardly  nor  inwardly  the 
worse  for  his  "  wakeful  day "  at  State  House  and 
engine-throttle.  A  slightly  puffed  under-lip  and  a 
double  set  of  discolored  knuckles  were  his  only  me 
mentoes  of  the  attack  upon  Blacarda. 

In  honor  of  his  victories,  the  Fighter  had  allowed 
himself  an  extra  half  hour's  sleep  and  a  steak  for 
breakfast.  It  was  nine  o'clock  so  he  pushed  back  his 
chair  from  the  deal  table  that  had  held  his  morning 
meal.  He  lighted  a  heavy  cigar,  rose,  stretched  him 
self  in  the  lazy  luxury  of  perfect  strength,  and  pre 
pared  to  go  to  the  day's  work. 

Conover,  in  the  early  years,  when  he  was  fighting 
tooth  and  nail  to  lift  the  moribund  C.  G.  &  X.  Rail 
road  to  a  paying  basis,  had  had  a  room  and  bath  fitted 
up  for  his  personal  use,  directly  to  the  rear  of  his 
private  office  in  the  station.  Here  he  had  lived,  his 
entire  life  centering  about  his  toil. 

Here  he  still  dwelt,  now  that  success  was  his.  The 
man  whose  wealth  had  already  passed  the  million 

100 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      101 

mark  and  was  rocketing  toward  far  higher  figures, 
was  simpler  in  his  personal  tastes  and  surroundings 
than  was  the  poorest  brakeman  on  his  road.  An  iron 
cot  bed,  a  painted  pine  bureau  with  flawed  mirror,  an 
air-tight  stove,  a  shelf  with  fourteen  books,  the  deal 
table  and  two  chairs  formed  the  sum  of  his  living- 
room  furniture.  One  of  the  station  scrubwomen  kept 
ihe  place  in  order.  The  few  personal  guests  he  had 
were  received  in  the  private  office  outside. 

One  such  visitor,  Conover  had  been  informed  ten 
minutes  earlier,  was  even  now  awaiting  him  there. 
At  least  Caleb,  reading  the  card,  "  Mr. John 
Hawarden,  Jr.,"  judged  the  caller  to  have  come  on  a 
personal  matter  of  some  sort  rather  than  on  railroad 
business. 

With  mild  curiosity  as  to  what  could  have  brought 
the  son  of  Desiree's  chaperone  to  see  him,  Conover 
lounged  in  leisurely  fashion  to  the  office. 

On  his  appearance,  a  tall,  slender  youth  rose  and 
greeted  him  with  nervous  cordiality. 

"  Sit  down,"  grunted  Conover,  scowling  under  the 
vigorous  grip  of  the  lad's  hand.  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

The  caller  twisted  his  neck  somewhat  uneasily  in  its 
amazing  height  of  collar,  fought  back  a  gulp  and  fell 
to  drawing  his  tan  gloves  through  his  fingers.  Caleb 
noted  that  the  hands  were  slim,  the  fingers  long  and 
tapering.  He  also  noted  that  the  boy,  despite  his 
almost  effeminate  delicacy  of  contour  and  feature, 
was  square  of  jaw  and  steady  of  eye.  The  Fighter 


102  THE  FIGHTER 

was,  from  these  signs  of  the  Brotherhood  of  Strength, 
amused  rather  than  irritated  at  the  other's  nervousness. 
He  even  felt  a  vague  desire  to  set  Hawarden  at  his 
ease. 

"  First  time  you  an  me  have  come  together,  ain't 
it  ?  "  he  asked,  less  gruffly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Hawarden  pleasantly.  "  I 
know  you  by  sight, —  and  of  course  by  reputation, — 
but  it's  hardly  likely  you'd  have  noticed  me.  My  par 
ents  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you." 

"Pleasure,  hey?"  queried  Caleb.  "That's  what 
they  called  it?" 

Hawarden  flushed  painfully,  as  at  some  not  wholly 
glad  memory. 

"  Never  mind  thinkin'  up  a  comeback,"  grinned 
Caleb.  "  Us  two  don't  speak  quite  the  same  language. 
My  mistake.  Now,"  dropping  into  the  office  manner 
habitual  to  him,  "  What  do  you  want  ?  I  take  it  you're 
not  makin'  a  round  of  social  calls  an*  choosin'  this 
for  the  first  stoppin'  place.  What  can  I  do  for  you? 
Come  to  the  point  quick,  please.  I'm  li'ble  to  be  pretty 
busy  today." 

Hawarden  smiled  back  in  an  engaging  fashion  that 
held  no  hint  of  fear.  For  this,  Caleb  again  felt  some 
what  drawn  to  him. 

"  I'm  on  a  horribly  cheeky  errand,"  began  the 
youth,  "  And,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  scared  stiff. 
I  came  to  speak  to  you  on  a  rather  delicate  sub 
ject." 

"  I  never  saw  the  '  delicate  subject '  that  wasn't 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      103 

the  better  for  being  dragged  out  into  the  fresh  air. 
Get  to  the  point,  son.  I'm  busy." 

"  I  am  here,  sir,"  said  the  boy  with  a  labored  for 
mality  that  spoke  of  much  rehearsal,  "  to  speak  to  you 
of  Miss  Desiree  Shevlin.  You  are  her  guardian,  I 
understand." 

Caleb's  glare  of  utter  and  displeased  astonishment 
checked  the  speaker  for  the  briefest  instant.  But, 
swallowing  hurriedly,  he  continued  his  set  speech: 

"  I  have  the  honor  —  the  undeserved  honor,  sir, — 
to  request  your  leave  to  ask  Miss  Shevlin  to  be  my 
wife." 

It  was  out!  Hawarden  relaxed  the  knuckle- 
whitening  grip  of  his  fists.  His  forehead  grew  moist. 
So  did  his  palms.  Nor  did  Caleb's  attitude  lessen  the 
awkwardness  of  the  moment.  With  open  mouth  the 
Fighter  sat  staring  at  his  guest.  At  last  he  found 
words  —  just  a  few  of  them. 

"  Well  I'll  be  damned! "  he  sputtered. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Hawarden,  taking  new  hold 
of  his  sliding  courage.  "  It  seems  to  me  a  more  hon 
orable  thing  to  ask  your  consent, —  as  Miss  Shevlin's 
guardian  —  before  daring  to  offer  myself  to  her." 

"  Son!"  observed  Caleb,  profoundly,  "If  you  had 
a  little  more  sense  you'd  be  half-witted !  " 

The  boy  got  to  his  feet. 

"  It  is  your  right,  I  suppose,"  he  answered  stiffly, 
"  to  insult  me.  You  an  an  older  man  than  I,  and  I 
come  to  you  as  an  applicant  for  — " 

"You  read  all  that  in  a  book,"   snorted   Caleb. 


104  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Cut  it  out  and  get  down  to  sense.  No  one's  in- 
sultin'  you  and  no  one's  stompin'  on  your  buddin' 
dignity.  You  can't  wonder  I  was  took  aback  when 
you  sprung  that  mine  on  me.  I  ain't  up  in  the  by-laws 
an'  constitootion  of  p'lite  s'ciety.  If  it's  the  usual  thing 
to  come  over  with  a  line  of  talk  like  you  just  got  out 
of  your  system — ,  why  I'm  sorry  if  I  acted  rough. 
There!  Now,  sit  down  and  talk  sense.  So  it's  the 
custom  to  ask  a  girl's  guardian  before  askin'  her? 
Nice,  ree-fmed  idee.  But  I  guess  if  ev'rybody  did  it 
there  wouldn't  be  a  terrible  lot  of  work  for  the 
marriage  license  clerks.  An' — why,  you're  just  a 
kid! "  he  broke  out.  "  What  in  blazes  are  you  babblin' 
about  marryin'  for?  Desiree's — " 

"  I  shall  be  twenty-two  next  month !  "  answered  the 
boy  proudly.  "  I  think  I  am  entitled  to  be  treated  as 
a  man.  Not  a  — " 

"Oh,  all  right!  all  right!"  chuckled  Caleb.  "I 
was  the  same  way.  Used  to  tickle  me  to  death  at 
twenty  to  be  called  '  Old  Man.'  Now,  I'd  give  five 
dollars  to  anyone  who'd  call  me  '  My  Boy/  So  you 
think  I  ought  to  treat  you  like  a  grown  man,  hey  ?  All 
right!" 

He  was  enjoying  the  scene  hugely.  He  liked  the 
boy's  pluck.  Fighter-like,  he  was  minded  to  test  it 
to  the  full.  As  a  possible  husband  for  Desiree,  he  did 
not  give  Hawarden  a  thought.  As  a  momentary 
means  of  amusement  to  himself,  he  was  willing  to  pro 
long  the  interview. 

"  We'll  s'pose  you're  a  man,  then,"  he  continued. 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART     105 

"  An'  you  want  to  marry  my  ward.  Your  fam'ly's 
as  good  as  hers.  Maybe  better,  as  you  folks  count 
such  things.  So  much  for  that.  Now,  what's  your 
income?  There,  don't  look  like  I'd  made  a  face  at 
you!  The  question's  in  order.  Maybe  you  think 
money  don't  count  in  matrimony?  Well,  it  does. 
Respectability  ain't  on  the  Free  List.  Not  by  a  long 
shot.  A  fam'ly  costs  three  times  as  much  to  keep  as 
a  chorus  girl.  What's  your  income  ?  Speak  up !  " 

"I  —  I  hardly  know,  exactly,"  faltered  Hawarden, 
"  When  I  was  in  college,  my  father  allowed  me  $1,500 
a  year.  He  still  keeps  it  up.  But  as  I'm  living  at 
home  now,  it  costs  me  less  to  get  on.  Then,  after  I 
finish  the  law-school  next  year,  I'll  be  making  a  good 
salary  myself  very  soon.  With  Miss  Shevlin  to  work 
for—" 

"To  put  it  plain,"  interrupted  Caleb,  "You're 
earnin'  nothin'  just  now,  with  a  golden  outlook  of 
earnin'  a  little  less  in  a  year  or  two." 

"  I  have  my  allowance,"  protested  Hawarden, 
"and—" 

"  We'll  cut  out  the  '  allowonce '  part,"  said  Caleb. 
"  That's  just  what  your  father  pays  as  part  of  his  fine 
for  bringin'  you  into  the  world.  He's  li'ble  to  get 
sore  on  you  any  time  an'  stop  playin'  the  alloorin'  role 
of  Human  Meal  Ticket.  What'll  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  You  don't  quite  understand,"  protested  Hawarden. 
"  In  a  year  from  now  I  shall  be  earning  my  own  living 
and  shall  not  be  dependent  on  my  father.  There  is 
good  money  in  law  and  — " 


106  THE  FIGHTER 

"  There  is !  "  assented  Caleb.  "  I've  put  a  lot  of  it 
there,  myself,  from  time  to  time.  But  blamed  few 
lawyers  manage  to  get  it  out.  The  rest  go  to  work 
on  street  cars  or — " 

"  I  shall  make  my  way/'  averred  the  lad  stoutly, 
"  and  even  if  I  don't  succeed  at  the  law,  I  always  have 
my  literary  work  to  fall  back  on." 

"Your  what?" 

"My  literary  work.  I  was  Yale  correspondent  for 
the  Star  all  the  time  I  was  at  college.  And  more  of 
my  stories  are  being  accepted  all  the  time  by  papers 
and  magazines.  And,"  seeking  mightily  to  subdue 
the  thrill  of  sublime  pride  in  his  voice  and  to  speak 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  he  played  his  trump 
card,  "  Last  month  I  had  a  seven  page  story  in 
Scribner's." 

"  Where?  "  asked  Caleb,  genuinely  curious. 

"In  Scribner's"  repeated  Hawarden  modestly. 

"Where's  that?"  inquired  Caleb. 

"  It's, —  why  Scribner's  Magazine"  explained  the 
boy,  in  dire  misery.  "  I  got  eighty  dollars  for  it,"  he 
added  with  a  pitiful  clutch  at  his  vanishing  self-re 
spect. 

Caleb's  eye  brightened.  He  looked  at  Hawarden 
with  a  new  interest. 

"Eighty  dollars?"  he  repeated.  "How  long'd  it 
take  you  to  write  it  out  ?  " 

"  About  three  days,  I  think,"  answered  the  boy, 
puzzled  at  the  question. 

"  H'm !     Not  so  bad.     Hundred  an'  sixty  dollars  a 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      107 

week ;  with  Sunday  off.  Why  don't  you  stick  to  that 
instead  of  messin'  around  with  the  law?  " 

"  It  was  the  tenth  story  I'd  sent  them,"  confessed 
Hawarden,  heroically.  "  And  it  was  the  first  one  they 
took.  That's  the  trouble  with  literature.  It  — " 

"  So,  as  things  stand  now,"  pursued  Caleb,  "  you've 
no  real  money.  No  sure  prospects.  An'  you  want 
to  marry  Dey  Shevlin.  You  want  her  to  share  your 
nothin'-a-year.  Or,"  he  grated,  "  maybe  you  think 
it'd  be  nice  to  live  on  her  cash  ?  " 

"  I  think  nothing  of  the  sort ! "  flared  Hawarden, 
scarlet  with  anger.  "  I'll  not  stand  that  sort  of  talk 
even  from  her  guardian.  I  wouldn't  touch  a  penny 
of  any  woman's  money  if  I  were  starving!  I — " 

"  That  sounds  kind  of  like  a  book,  too,"  com 
mented  Caleb.  "  But  you  mean  it.  I'm  glad  you  do. 
I  think  I  kind  of  like  you.  So  instead  of  throwin' 
you  downstairs,  I'm  goin'  to  waste  a  whole  minute 
talkin'  to  you.  You're  a  nice  kid.  You  come  here 
bristlin'  with  book  learnin'  an'  idees  of  honor  an'  you 
make  your  little  speech  to  the  stony  hearted  guardian 
an'  stand  ready  to  say  *  God  bless  you,  sir,  for  them 
kind  words ! '  or  *  You've  busted  two  young  hearts ! ' 
No,  you  needn't  squirm.  It's  so.  But  you  can  rub 
both  those  remarks  off  the  slate.  Neither  of  'em'll  be 
needed.  You've  the  good  sense  to  fall  in  love  with 
the  dandiest  girl  that  ever  happened.  But  what  have 
you  got  to  offer  her?  Besides  your  valuable  self,  I 
mean?  You're  askin'  for  the  greatest  thing  in  all  this 
world.  Do  you  give  anything  in  exchange?  Not 


io8  THE  FIGHTER 

you.  You  want  her, —  her  with  her  pretty  ways,  an' 
clever  brain  an'  gorgeous  little  face.  An'  you  can't 
even  support  her.  You  can't  even  say :  '  I've  got  ten 
dollars  a  week  of  my  own.  I'll  give  it  all  to  her.' 
You've  no  money  —  no  prospects.  An'  you  want  her 
to  exchange  herself  for  that.  Her  that  could  marry  a 
millionaire  if  she  wanted  to." 

"  I'm  —  I'm  willing  that  the  engagement  should  be 
a  long  one,"  hesitated  the  boy,  battling  futilely  against 
the  vulgar  truth  of  Caleb's  words.  "  I  wouldn't  ask 
her  to  marry  me  till  I  was  able  to  support  her, —  to 
support  her  well." 

"  An'  in  the  meantime,"  urged  Conover,  with  mer 
ciless  logic.  "  In  the  meantime,  she's  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  sittin'  by,  eatin'  her  heart  out,  waitin'  — 
waitin' —  growin'  older  ev'ry  year, —  losin'  good 
chances, —  bein'  sidetracked  at  parties  an'  so  on,  be 
cause  she's  engaged  an'  no  longer  in  the  marriage  mar 
ket, —  waitin'  year  after  year  — maybe  till  all  her  pret- 
tiness  an'  her  youth's  gone  —  just  on  the  chance  that 
you'll  some  day  be  able  to  support  a  wife?  You 
don't  mean  to  be  crooked.  You're  only  just  foolish. 
But  look  the  thing  in  the  eyes  an'  tell  me :  Is  it  square  ? 
Is  it  an  honest  bargain  you  offer?  Aren't  you 
cheatin'  the  one  girl  in  the  world  you  ought  to  do 
most  for?" 

"  But  with  such  an  incentive,"  pleaded  the  boy,  "  I'd 
surely  make  my  way  quickly.  In  a  year  at  most !  I'd 
work  —  I'd  work  so  hard  for  her !  " 

Caleb  leaned  to  one  side  and  threw  open  the  win- 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      109 

dow  by  his  desk.  With  the  warm,  soft  air  of  Spring 
rushed  in  the  steam  sibilance  and  clangor  of  the  rail 
way  yards. 

"  Look  down  there ! "  ordered  Conover,  pointing 
out,  "  More'n  a  hundred  men  in  that  yard,  ain't 
there?  Dirty-faced  men  with  stooped  shoulders  an' 
soiled  clothes.  Not  a  one  of  'em  that's  got  a  fam'ly 
resemblance  to  Romeo.  What  are  they  doin'? 
W or kin' !  Every  mother's  son  of  'em  workin'  harder 
than  you  or  any  of  your  fam'ly  ever  worked  or  ever 
could  work.  How'd  their  faces  get  dirty  an'  stoopid 
an'  their  shoulders  bent  over?  By  workin'.  An'  who 
are  they  workin'  for?  For  themselves?  Not  them. 
Each  one  of  'em's  workin'  for  some  woman.  An' 
most  of  'em  for  a  bunch  of  measly  kids  as  well. 
Workin'  all  day  an'  ev'ry  day,  till  they  drop  dead  or 
wear  out  an'  go  to  the  poorhouse.  An'  the  women 
they  work  for  are  workin'  too.  Workin'  at  wash 
board  or  scrub-brush  to  eke  out  the  men-folks'  an* 
brats'  livin'.  Work!  Work!  Work!  All  their 
lives.  But  I  don't  see  any  of  'em  gatherin'  in  front  of 
the  footlights  an'  singin'  a  chorus  about  how  happy 
they  are,  or  how  their  hard  work  has  made  their  wives 
rich  an'  lazy.  Are  you  any  better'n  they  are?  Can 
you  work  any  harder  for  Desiree  than  they  are  workin' 
for  the  slatternly,  slab-sided,  down-at-heel  women  at 
home?  Don't  you  s'pose  every  one  of  those  men 
once  planned  to  make  his  wife  a  lady  an'  to  '  cons'crate 
his  toil '  to  her  ?  Think  it  over,  son ;  an'  get  a  better 
argument  than  the  silly  fact  that  you're  willin'  to  do 


no  THE  FIGHTER 

your  dooty  by  workin'  for  Desiree.  Hell's  full  of 
workers." 

"  It  all  seems  so  horrible  —  so  gross  —  so  mate 
rial  !  "  muttered  the  boy.  "  But  —  but  you're  right, 
sir.  I  can  see  it  now.  Still  — " 

He  stretched  his  hands  out  before  him  in  an  im 
pulsive  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Still,"  finished  Caleb,  "  it  hadn't  ought  to  be,  hey? 
Most  things  hadn't.  But  most  things  are.  Now  look 
here !  I've  wasted  a  lot  of  time  an'  a  lot  of  bad  tastin' 
truths  over  you.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it,  except 
that  I  always  like  to  jaw  after  I've  had  a  big  fight  on. 
It  kind  of  lets  off  steam.  Here's  the  answer  in  a  nut 
shell:  I'm  Miss  Shevlin's  guardian.  What  Miss 
Shevlin  wants,  she's  goin'  to  have,  if  I  have  to  buy 
the  White  House  for  her.  If  she  wants  you  she  can 
have  you.  If  she  don't  want  you  —  all  the  consent  I 
could  give  wouldn't  amount  to  a  hoot  in  Hades. 
Per'snally,  I  think  you'd  better  wait  till  you  grow  up 
an'  get  a  job  before  you  talk  'bout  marryin'.  But  it's 
her  affair.  Not  mine.  If  she  wants  you  she  can  have 
you.  Put  it  up  to  her.  It's  past  me.  An'  now  trot 
along.  You've  taken  more  of  my  time  than  you  could 
pay  for  in  a  dozen  seven-page  stories.  Don't  stop  to 
thank  me.  Chase." 

"  But  I  do  thank  you  a  thousand  times !  "  exclaimed 
Hawarden,  shaking,  hands  with  boyish  vehemence. 
"  I'm  : —  I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you.  When  I  came,  I 
was  afraid  I'd  meet  some  such  fate  as  poor  Mr.  Bla- 
carda." 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART     in 

"  What's  that  ?  "  snapped  Caleb,  all  geniality  wiped 
from  his  voice. 

"About  Mr.  Blacarda?"  asked  the  boy  in  perfect 
innocence.  "  Haven't  you  heard  ?  It  was  in  the 
morning  papers.  It  seems  he  was  jumping  on  a  mov 
ing  street  car,  up  at  the  Capital,  yesterday  afternoon, 
when  his  foot  slipped  on  the  steps  and  he  was  dragged 
along,  face-downward,  for  nearly  half  a  block.  Two 
of  his  ribs  were  broken,  and  his  body  is  covered  with 
bruises.  The  papers  say  his  face  is  battered  almost 
beyond  recognition." 

"Too  bad!"  remarked  Conover  drily.  "Folks 
ought  to  be  careful  how  they  try  to  jump  onto  heavy- 
movin'  things.  Sometimes  there's  apt  to  be  a  surprise 
for  the  jumper.  Now  clear  out!  You  can  run  an' 
tell  Dey  what  I  said  if  you  want  to.  No,  don't  go 
thankin'  me  again.  It's  up  to  her,  as  I  told  you. 
Most  likely,  she'll  send  you  about  your  business.  So 
long!" 

Waving  out  the  bewildered,  delighted  youth,  Caleb 
threw  hiiiiself  back:  in  his  leather  chair  and  fished 
from  a  case  the  ever-present  cigar.  A  towering  pile 
of  work  lay  untouched  on  his  desk.  But  he  gave  it  no 
heed.  With  a  queer,  wholly  inexplicable  contraction 
at  the  heart  he  lay  there  thinking.  At  first  he  tried 
to  laugh  r,i  the  memory  of  the  boy's  loftily  worded  pre 
tensions.  But  somehow  he  could  not.  He  recalled 
what  Caine  had  said  about  Desiree  marrying  "  the 
right  man."  Hawarden  came  of  good  family.  His 
parents  were  among  the  best  people  in  Granite.  As 


H2  THE  FIGHTER 

his  wife,  Desiree  could  probably  take  and  hold  any 
social  position  she  chose.  He  was  a  nice  boy,  too. 
And  some  day  he  would  grow  up.  There  was  much 
to  be  said  for  the  match,  preposterous  as  it  had  at  first 
seemed.  After  all,  why  not  —  ? 

A  clerk  entered  with  a  card.  Conover's  mouth  set 
in  a  grim  smile  as  he  glanced  at  it. 

"  Send  him  in,"  he  said,  moving  across  to  his  desk 
chair,  "  I  seem  to  be  holdin'  a  levee  of  the  ar'stocracy 
this  mornin'." 

Reuben  Standish,  gaunt,  gray  and  stiff  as  ever,  was 
ushered  into  the  private  office.  The  old  man's  face 
was  a  monotone  of  drab,  save  for  a  ruddy  patch  on 
either  cheek  bone  where  consumption  flaunted  a  no- 
surrender  flag.  Caleb  greeted  him  with  a  nod  and 
motioned  him  to  a  seat. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  broken  in  upon  very  important 
work,"  began  Standish  glancing  at  the  mountain  of 
letters  and  papers  on  the  desk. 

"  All  my  work's  important,"  answered  Caleb.  "  If 
it  wasn't  I'd  have  an  office  boy  do  it  while  I  loafed. 
Want  anything  especial  ?  " 

"  First  of  all,"  evaded  Standish,  in  the  courtly,  old- 
world  manner  that  Caleb  always  found  so  jarring, 
"  permit  me  to  congratulate  you  on  your  great  victory 
at  the  Capitol  yesterday.  I  read  this  morning  that 
the  Starke  bill  was  defeated  entirely  through  your 
own  personal  endeavors.  It  must  be  a  great  thing  to 
wield  so  powerful  an  influence  over  one's  fellow  men. 
I—" 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      113 

"  Say,"  interposed  Caleb.  "  Quit  standin'  on  the 
distant  hilltop  makin'  peace  signs.  Come  on  down  an' 
tell  me  what  you  want.  Make  it  as  short  as  you  can." 

It  appeared  that  Mr.  Standish  wanted  much ;  though 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  condense  his  wishes  to 
the  degree  Caleb  suggested.  This,  however,  was  of 
little  account,  since  the  Fighter  already  foreknew  the 
other's  mission.  He  listened  with  only  perfunctory 
attention  to  a  recital  of  the  Aaron  Burr  Bank's  needs, 
of  the  stringency  of  deposits  and  the  danger  of  a 
"  run ;  "  with  still  less  heed  to  the  tale  of  an  unwonted 
depression  in  certain  stocks  wherein  Mr.  Standish's 
interest  was  purely  marginal.  As  the  story  ended, 
Conover  said  curtly: 

"  To  sum  it  up,  you're  broke.  You  want  me  to 
make  deposits  to-day  in  your  bank  an'  you  want  a 
pers'nal  loan  besides." 

Standish  started  to  speak.  Caleb  motioned  back  the 
words. 

"  How  much  ?  "  he  asked.  "  How  much  in  all  ? 
Don't  hem  an'  haw,  man.  You've  got  the  amount 
fixed  in  your  mind,  down  to  the  last  cent.  You  know 
how  much  you'll  ask  for,  how  much  I'm  li'ble  to  give 
an'  how  much  you  really  need.  Start  off  with  the 
biggest  sum  first.  How  much  ?  " 

Standish  tremulously  blurted  out  his  statement. 
When  one  was  dealing  with  a  boor  like  this  Conover, 
there  was  surely  no  need  for  finesse.  The  fellow  was 
as  blind  to  the  finer  shades  of  business  dealings  as  to 
the  usages  of  gentle  life.  Therefore,  why  hesitate  or 


II4  THE  FIGHTER 

leave  him  to  guess  the  amount  from  adding  up  a  series 
of  delicate  hints?  A  low-browed  boor;  though  a  de 
cidedly  convenient  one  to  cultivate  —  at  times.  The 
present  being  most  emphatically  one  of  these  times, 
Standish  with  ruffled  dignity  laid  bare  his  financial 
soul. 

And  the  big,  red  haired  man  lolled  back  in  the  op 
posite  chair  watching  his  stately  visitor  from  between 
alert,  half-shut  eyes.  The  Fighter  had  waited, 
worked,  planned,  for  months,  for  this  very  interview. 
Had  Standish  been  better  versed  in  sign-reading,  he 
might  have  seen  marks  of  Conover's  passage  all  along 
the  tortuous  finance  trail  that  had  at  last  led  to  this 
private  office  and  still  more  private  confession. 

But  Standish  had  fallen  not  only  into  the  trap  but 
into  the  fatal  mistake  that  had,  a  century  earlier,  in 
France,  caused  the  severance  of  a  goodly  number  of 
noble  heads :  —  the  error  of  underestimating  a  prole 
tariat  opponent.  And  now,  unwittingly,  he  was  about 
to  pay  the  price. 

"  Well,"  observed  Caleb,  when  the  facts  stood  forth, 
marshaled  in  their  sorry  array,  "  How  does  all  this 
int'rest  me?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  halted  Standish. 

"  I  say,  how  does  this  int'rest  me?  Why  should  / 
int'rest  myself  in  doin'  this  mighty  big  favor  for  you  ? 
Why  don't  you  turn  to  some  of  your  own  business 
associates  —  some  men  of  your  own  class?  Why  do 
you  come  here  ?  " 

"I  —  you  were  so  kind  as  to  help  me  before  — " 


€ONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      115 

"  An'  that  gives  me  a  license  to  do  it  again?  "  sug 
gested  Caleb.  "  That  seems  to  be  the  rule  all  the 
world  over.  The  rest  of  your  crowd  are  either  as 
bad  off  as  you ;  or  have  too  much  sense  to  put  cash  inlo 
a  sinkin'  enterprise,  hey?  So  we  come  'a  runnin*  *o 
the  easy  mark,  Caleb  Conover.  He'll  be  flattered  to 
help  us  out." 

"  Mr.  Conover ! "  coughed  the  poor  old  man. 

"  That's  all  right,"  laughed  Caleb.  "  I'm  goin'  *> 
help  you  out.  So  don't  get  any  grayer  in  the  face 
than  you  are  already.  I'm  goin'  to  help  you  out  for 
two  reasons.  First,  because  if  I  don't,  you're  ruined. 
Flat  broke  an'—" 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Conover !  "  exclaimed  Standish,  trem 
blingly.  "  Not  in  the  very  least.  It  is  a  temporary 
crisis  which — " 

"  Which  is  goin'  to  become  perm'nent  unless  I  sling 
out  a  fife  rope.  What's  the  use  of  lyin'  'bout  it?  " 

Standish  laughed.  The  pitiful,  mirthless  laugh  of 
the  man  who  is  insulted  and  dare  not  resent  the 
affront;  who  compromises  with  trampled  self  respect 
by  grinning  where  he  should  curse. 

"Good  joke,  ain't  it?"  agreed  Caleb,  reading  the 
broken  aristocrat  like  an  open  page,  "  So  much  for 
my  first  reason.  My  second  reason  for  helpin*  you 
out  is  because  I  want  to  do  you  a  neighborly  turn. 
We  are  neighbors,  ain't  we,  Standish  ?  " 

"Why  of  course!  Of  course!"  cried  the  other 
wholly  puzzled  as  to  the  trend  of  Caleb's  words;  yet 
unfeignedly  happy  —  and  therefore  eager  to  be  genial 


n6  THE  FIGHTER 

—  over   the    solution    of    his    financial    tangle.     He 
coughed  a  pleasant  acquiescence. 

"  But,"  went  on  Caleb,  "  it  just  occurs  to  me  I  ain't 
been  as  neighborly  with  you  as  I'd  oughter." 

Absent-mindedly,  as  he  talked,  Conover  drew  forth 
his  check  book  from  a  drawer  and  laid  it  open  before 
him,  fingering  its  long  pink  slips. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  forestalling  Standish's  per 
plexed  reply,  "  I  ain't  been  so  neighborly  as  I  should. 
You've  been  around  here  to  see  me  several  times,  now. 

—  An'  I've  never  once  returned  any  of  your  visits. 
It's  about  up  to  me  to  come  to  see  you.     When' 11  I 
come  ?  " 

"  Why  —  by  all  means !  By  all  means !  "  declared 
Standish  with  effusion.  "  Come  and  lunch  with  me, 
some  day, —  shall  we  say,  at  the  Pompton  Club? 
Why  not  to-day?  I  shall  be  delighted.  If — " 

"  I  don't  go  out  to  lunch,"  objected  Conover. 
"  Haven't  time.  But  I'd  be  glad  to  eat  dinner  with 
you." 

"  Certainly.  Why,  of  course.  Any  evening  you 
say.  The  chef  we  have  now  at  the  Pompton  Club  — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  dine  at  the  Pompton  Club,"  said 
Caleb  sulkily. 

"  At  the  Arareek,  then.  We're  both  members  there. 
What  evening  —  ?  " 

"  Nor  the  Arareek,  neither,"  answered  Caleb, 
"  Eatin'  food  with  a  man  at  his  club  ain't  what  I  call 
bein'  neighborly.  I'll  just  drop  around  on  you  for  a 
home  dinner  some  evenin'.  I'll  like  that  better." 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART      117 

"  Why,  ye  —  es,"  coincided  Standish,  with  all  the 
cordiality  he  could  muster  against  the  shock,  "  That 
will  be  delightful.  Certainly.  Some  evening 
when  — " 

"  How'd  Friday  evenin'  of  this  week  suit  you?" 
asked  Caleb,  breaking  in  on  the  loosely  strung  speech 
of  his  guest. 

"  Friday  ?  "  echoed  Standish,  taken  aback.  "  Why, 
why  my  family  are  to  be  at  home  that  evening !  " 

White  spots  leaped  into  view  at  either  side  of  Caleb's 
close  shut  lips,  and  something  lurid  flamed  far  back 
in  his  eyes.  Had  Blacarda  —  in  his  hospital  room 
at  the  Capital  —  seen  that  look,  he  might  have  suf 
fered  relapse.  But  Standish  was  near  sighted, — 
except  in  the  eyes, —  and  the  expression  passed  un 
noticed. 

"  I  know  your  fam'ly's  to  be  home  that  night,"  said 
Conover  in  a  curiously  muffled  voice.  "  Also  there's 
a  dinner  party  you're  givin'.  An'  a  musicle  after 
ward.  Twelve  guests  to  the  dinner.  'Bout  two  hun 
dred  to  the  musicle.  I'm  comin'  to  both." 

"  But  my  dear  Mr.  Conover !  "  cried  Standish  with 
forced  gayety.  "  You  don't  quite  see  the  point  — 
Much  as  I  —  and  all  of  us  —  would  be  delighted  to 
have  you  as  our  guest  at  dinner  that  night,  yet  the 
laws  of  a  dinner  party  are  unpleasantly  —  perhaps 
ridiculously  —  rigid.  For  instance,  this  is  to  be  a 
dinner  for  twelve.  An  extra  man  would  spoil  the 
balance  —  and  — "  with  sudden  inspiration  — "  it 
would  make  thirteen.  So  many  people  are  foolishly 


n6  THE  FIGHTER 

superstitious!     I  confess,  I  am,  for  one.     Now  the 
next  evening  would  — " 

"  The  next  evenin',"  said  Conover,  "  you  an'  your 
fam'fy  are  booked  for  the  Hawarden's  theatre  party. 
I  read  about  it  in  the  Star.  You'd  excuse  yourself  an' 
stay  at  home  an'  dine  alone  with  me.  An'  that'd  be 
about  as  merry  as  a  morgue  for  both  of  us.  No, 
I'm  comin'  Friday; — if  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  ask 
me." 

"  But  I've  just  told  you — " 

''  You've  just  told  me  there  was  to  be  twelve  guests. 
That's  all  right.  There'll  be  only  twelve.  I'll  be  one 
of  the  twelve.  Blacarda  was  invited.  He's  laid  up  in 
the  hospital  from  a  car  acc'dent  an'  can't  come.  I'm 
helpin*  you  out  by  takin'  his  place.  No  inconvenience 
to  anyone.  Unless  maybe  you  think  your  daughter 
an'  your  sister-in-law  won't  care  to  meet  me?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  Nonsense !  "  fumed  Standish,  in  fear 
ful  straits.  "  They'd  be  very  glad  indeed.  But  — " 

"  Then  that's  settled,"  decided  Conover. 
"  Thanks." 

He  bent  over  the  check  book,  pen  in  hand.  Stand 
ish,  at  his  wit's  end,  made  one  more  attempt  to  drag 
himself  free  of  the  dilemma. 

"  I  know  you  won't  be  offended,"  he  faltered,  with 
another  dry  cough,  "  if  I  say  frankly, —  frankness  is 
always  best,  I  think, —  that  I  — " 

Caleb  closed  the  check  book  with  a  snap  and 
whirled  his  desk  chair  about,  to  face  his  visitor;  so 
suddenly  that  the  latter  involuntarily  started  back. 


CONOVER  STORMS  A  RAMPART     119 

Not  even  Standish  could  now  misread  that  dull,  hot 
glint  in  Conover's  pale  eyes. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Standish,"  said  the  Fighter. 
"  Don't  ever  make  the  blunder  of  thinkin'  a  man  can't 
understand  you  just  because  you  can't  understand  him. 
If  you'd  said  to  one  of  your  own  crowd :  '  I  can't  in 
vite  you  to  my  house  because  my  fam'ly's  goin'  to  be 
there;  because  you  ain't  fit  to  meet  my  women,' — if 
you'd  said  that  to  one  of  them,  he'd  a'  been  your 
enemy  for  life.  You  wouldn't  a'dared  insult  him  so. 
But  you  said  it  to  me  because  you  thought  I  wouldn't 
understand.  Well,  I  do.  Shut  up!  I  know  what 
you  want  to  say,  an'  I  don't  want  to  hear  it.  I'm 
not  comin'  to  your  house  for  love  of  you;  but  I'm 
comin'  just  the  same  —  I  guess  I've  bought  my  right 
to.  If  a  man's  good  enough  to  beg  from,  he's  good 
enough  to  treat  civil.  An'  you're  goin'  to  treat  me 
civil.  This  afternoon  I'm  goin'  to  get  an  invite  to 
your  dinner  an'  the  musicle.  You  ought  to  be  grate 
ful  that  I  don't  insist  on  singin'  there.  I'm  goin'  on 
Friday,  an'  you're  goin'  to  pass  the  word  around  that 
I'm  to  be  treated  right,  while  I'm  there.  Just  to  make 
sure  of  it,  I'll  date  this  check  ahead  to  next  Saturday." 

A  last  remnant  of  manhood  flared  up  within  the 
consumptive  old  bank  president's  withered  soul. 

"  I'm  not  to  be  bulldozed,  Mr.  Conover ! "  he  said 
with  a  certain  dignity.  "  Because  you  extend  business 
favors  to  me,  I  am  not  obliged  to  admit  a  man  of  your 
character  to  my  home.  And  I  shall  not.  As  for  the 
loan—" 


120  THE  FIGHTER 

"  As  for  the  loan,"  replied  Conover,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  and  tossing  the  check  book  back  in  the 
drawer,  "  I'm  not  obliged  to  stave  off  ruin  from  a 
man  that  thinks  I'm  not  fit  to  enter  his  home.  That's 
all.  Good  day." 

He  slammed  shut  the  desk  drawer,  and  began  to 
look  over  some  of  the  opened  letters  before  him. 

The  old  man  had  risen  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  closed  drawer  like  those  of  a  starved  dog  on  a 
chunk  of  meat.  His  mouth  corners  twitched  and 
humiliation  forced  an  unwonted  moisture  into  his  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Conover,"  he  began,  tentatively. 

"  Good  day ! "  retorted  Caleb  without  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  papers  he  was  sorting. 

"  Mr.  Conover !  "  coughed  Standish  in  despair,  "  I'll 
—  I'll  be  very  glad  if  you'll, dine  with  us  on  Friday 
night." 

Conover  opened  the  drawer,  tossed  the  check  across 
the  table  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

"  I'll  be  there,"  he  grunted. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   LESSON   IN   IGNORANCE 

Desiree  was  at  the  piano.  Caleb  Conover,  whose 
knowledge  of  music  embraced  one  Sousa  march  and 
"  Summer  Noon"  (with  a  somewhat  hazy  idea  as  to 
which  was  which)  lounged,  sprawling,  on  a  cushion  by 
her  feet;  listening  in  ignorant  admiration  to  the 
snatches  of  melody.  That  anyone  could  coax  a  tune 
out  of  so  complex  an  instrument  was  to  him  a  mys 
tery  to  be  greeted  with  silent  respect. 

He  had  come  to  her,  in  the  long  Spring  twilight,  to 
show  with  naive  pride  an  invitation  he  had  just  re 
ceived.  An  invitation  to  the  musicale-dinner  at  the 
Standishes',  three  nights  hence.  He  volunteered  no 
information  as  to  how  it  had  been  obtained ;  but  evaded 
the  girl's  wondering  queries  with  the  guilty  embar 
rassment  that  was  always  his  when  she  chanced  to 
corner  him  in  a  fault.  From  Conover's  manner  De 
siree  gathered  that  the  invitation  was  in  a  way  an 
effort  on  Standish's  part  to  repay  the  courtesy  of  the 
various  large  loans  she  knew  Caleb  had  made  to  the 
banker.  Nor  would  she  spoil  the  Fighter's  very  evi 
dent  delight  by  closer  cross-questioning.  Caleb  had 
said,  days  ago,  that  he  was  going  to  be  invited  to  the 
dinner.  And,  despite  her  invariable  scoffs  at  his 

121 


122  THE  FIGHTER 

boasts,  she  had  long  since  learned  that  such  vaunts  had 
an  odd  way  of  coming  true. 

The  June  dusk  lay  velvet-like  over  the  little  music 
room.  From  the  yard  outside  came  the  bitter-sweet 
breath  of  syringas.  Far  off  sounded  the  yells  of  Billy 
Shevlin  and  some  of  his  fellow  street-boys;  their 
racket  mellowed  by  distance. 

Talk  had  languished.  At  last  Desiree  had  crossed 
to  the  piano.  She  sat,  playing  scraps  of  music,  as  was 
her  wont ;  pausing  now  and  then  to  speak ;  then  letting 
her  fingers  run  into  a  new  air  or  a  series  of  soft  im 
provised  chords.  She  had  scant  technique  and  played 
almost  wholly  by  ear ;  using  the  piano  only  as  the  ama 
teur  music-worshipper's  medium  for  recalling  and  re 
producing  some  cherished  fragments  of  song. 

But  to  Caleb,  lolling  at  her  side,  the  performance 
was  sublime.  That  anyone  could  talk  while  playing 
the  piano  was  to  him  nothing  short  of  marvelous. 
He  was  firmly  convinced  it  was  a  gift  vouchsafed  to 
Desiree  alone.  Music  itself  was  wholly  unintelligible 
to  him.  Except  from  Desiree' s  lips  or  fingers,  he 
found  it  actively  distasteful.  But  all  she  did  was  per 
fect.  And  if  her  playing  fell  upon  his  ear  as  a  mean 
ingless  jumble  of  sounds,  he  at  least  found  the  sounds 
sweet. 

"  What's  that  thing  you  just  did  with  one  hand  and 
then  rumbled  down  on  the  low  notes  with  the  other  ?  " 
he  asked,  after  a  spell  of  watching  the  busy  white 
fingers  shining  through  the  dusk. 

"  That?  "  queried  Desiree.     "  It's  just  the  Vander- 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  123 

decken  motive  from  The  Flying  Dutchman.  And  I 
used  to  be  able  to  play  the  whole  Spinning  Song;  but 
I've  forgotten  most  of  it." 

"  H'm !  "  murmured  Caleb,  who  found  her  words  as 
unmeaning  as  her  music.  "  I  thought  I  remembered 
that  one.  '  Spinning  Song,'  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  absently.  "  It  starts  out  with  lots 
of  bizzy,  purry  little  notes  too  fast  for  me  to  play.  I 
never  could  learn  the  piano." 

"  You  bet  you  could !  "  cried  Caleb,  at  once  afire 
with  contradiction.  "  I've  heard  a  lot  of  crackajack 
piano  players  an'  never  one  of  'em  could  hold  a  candle 
to  you.  Why,  there  was  Blink  Snesham  —  the  feller 
they  called  Ragtime  King, —  down  to  Kerrigan's. 
You've  got  him  beat  a  block." 

"  You  dear  old  loyal  idiot !  "  laughed  Desiree,  lifting 
one  hand  from  the  keys  to  rumple  his  stiff  red  hair 
with  a  gesture  as  affectionate  as  it  was  discomfiting. 
"  I  believe  you  think  I'm  the  wonderfullest  person  on 
earth." 

"  I  know  you  are,"  he  answered  simply,  his  big 
body  a-thrill  with  half -holy  joy  at  her  touch. 
"  What's  the  one  you're  playing  now  with  your  other 
hand.  Ain't  so  very  long,  but  it's  kind  of  sprightly." 

"  It's  Siegfried's  horn  call.  See  how  it  changes  to 
four-time  and  loses  all  its  buoyancy,  in  the  Goetter- 
daemmerung  funeral  march." 

Solemnly,  hopelessly,  the  transformed,  distorted 
horn-call  crashed  out. 

"  That  ain't  the  same  thing  you  played  just  now,  is 


I24  THE  FIGHTER 

it?."  he  asked  in  doubt.  "Sounds  sort  of  like  the 
toons  the  bands  play  at  Masonic  fun'rals." 

"  Same  notes.  Different  tempo.  One  is  the  mo 
tive  of  the  boy  who  starts  out  through  the  forest  of  life 
sounding  a  joy-challenge  to  everything  and  everybody. 
The  other  is  woven  into  the  dead  hero's  mourning 
chant.  In  Goetterdaemmerung,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  remember  now,"  said  Caleb,  hastily. 
"  It'd  just  slipped  my  mind  for  the  minute.  I've  got 
so  many  things  to  think  of,  you  know." 

"  Caleb  Conover!" 

Down  came  both  little  hands  with  a  reproving  bang 
on  the  keyboard,  as  the  girl  started  out  of  her  rhap 
sody. 

"  Caleb  Conover,  you're  being  that  way  again!  And 
after  all  I've  told  you.  How  am  I  going  to  cure  you 
of  pretending?  " 

"  But,  Dey !  "  he  declared.  "  Honest  I  —  I  thought 
—  I  did." 

"  You  know  very  well  you  were  pretending.  You 
don't  know  whether  Goetterdaemmerung  is  a  dog,  a 
bird,  or  a  patent  medicine.  Now  confess.  Do  you?  " 

"  From  the  sound,"  floundered  Caleb,  in  all  serious 
ness,  "I'd  put  my  money  on  the  dog.  But  then,  may 
be—" 

Desiree  leaned  back  and  laughed  long  and  delight 
edly. 

"Oh,  Caleb!"  she  gasped.  "  What  am  I  going  to 
do  with  you  ?  Are  you  never  going  to  grow  up  ?  " 

"  Not  so  long  as  my  making  a  fool  of  myself  can 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  125 

get  such  a  sweet-sounding  laugh  out  of  you,"  he  re 
turned.  "  But,  honest,  Dey,  how  can  you  expect  me 
to  know  them  things  about  horns  an'  Dutchmen  an' 
spinnin',  an'  all  that,  when  you  never  tell  me  before 
hand  what  it  is  you're  goin'  to  play?  When  you're 
doin'  those  piano  stunts,  I  always  feel  like  you  was 
travelin'  through  places  where  the  '  No  Thoroughfare  ' 
sign's  hung  out  for  me.  Then  when  I  make  b'lieve 
I'm  keepin'  up  with  you, —  just  so  as  I  won't  get  to 
feelin'  too  lonesome, —  you  find  it  out  somehow  an' 
call  me  down.  What's  that  thing  you're  playin' 
now?  " 

Infinitely  sweet,  fraught  with  all  the  tender  hope 
lessness  of  parting,  the  notes  sobbed  out  into  the  little 
room ;  then  stopped  abruptly. 

"  That's  all  I  know  of  it,"  she  said.  "  I  only  heard 
it  once.  In  New  York,  winter  before  last.  It's  the 
third  act  duet  between  Mimi  and  Rodolfo  in  '  Bo- 
heme'  Where  they  say  goodbye  in  the  snow,  at  the 
Paris  barrier.  I  wish  I  remembered  the  rest  of  it." 

"  Why,  I  thought  those  people  was  in  the  play  you 
told  me  about.  You  see  I  do  remember  some  things 
like  that.  Weren't  they  the  ones  that  was  in  love  an' 
the  feller  said  the  girl  was  his  '  Youth,'  an'  when  she 
died  — " 

'  Yes.  It's  an  opera  with  the  same  sort  of  story. 
It's  queer  you  remember  it.  That's  the  second  time 
you've  spoken  to  me  about  'La  Vie  de  Boheme. 
How  funny  that  a  big,  matter-of-fact  business  man 
like  you  should  be  interested  in  sentimental  stories  of 


THE  FIGHTER 

Youth  and  Love  and  Death !  Come !  "  rising  from 
the  music  stool  and  losing  the  unwonted  dreaminess 
that  had  stolen  over  her,  "  I'm  going  to  talk  to  you 
now  about  the  Standishes'  dinner.  Have  you  any  idea 
how  to  behave,  or  what  to  do  ?  " 

"  Well,"  drawled  Caleb,  "  I  guess  it's  mor'n  three 
years  now  since  you  loored  me  from  the  simple 
Jeffersonian  joys  of  eatin'  with  my  knife.  An'  I  know 
'boat  not  tuckin'  my  napkin  under  my  chin,  an'  not 
makin'  noises  like  a  swimmin'  pool  while  I'm  eatin' 
soup.  An'  —  an  I  mustn't  touch  the  butter  with  my 
fork.  You  see  I've  learnt  a  lot  by  your  lettin'  me 
come  here  to  dinner  so  often.  I  guess  there  ain't  any 
more  things  to  remember,  are  there  ?  The  part  about 
the  butter  will  be  hardest,  but  — " 

"  There  won't  be  any  butter,"  said  Desree,  "  So 
there's  one  less  temptation  for  you  to  grapple  with." 

"Then  I'll  be  all  right  about  the  eatin',"replied 
Conover.  Knife,  soup,  napkin,  butter.  Anything 
else?" 

"  Only  about  fifty  more  things,"  answered  Desiree, 
pessimistically.  "  Oh,  I  do  wish  I  were  to  be  there  to 
coach  you !  " 

"  Want  an  invitation?  "  asked  Caleb,  eagerly. 

"How  silly!  At  the  eleventh  hour?  Of  course  I 
don't.  I  hardly  know  them.  Besides  I'm  going  to 
the  musicale  afterward.  But  I'm  so  afraid  you'll  do 
something  you  ought  not  to.  You  won't,  will  you?  " 

"  Most  likely  I  will,"  confessed  Caleb,  ruefully. 
"  But  I  bought  a  book  today  'bout  etiquette  an'  I'm 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  127 

reading  up  a  little.  I've  got  one  or  two  pointers  al 
ready.  Napkins  are  servy  —  serv  — " 

"  Serviettes  ?  "  suggested  Desiree.  "  But  no  one 
nowadays  calls  them  — " 

"  An'  when  you  don't  want  to  get  jagged,  put  your 
hand,  'with  a  careless,  debbynair  movement,'"  he 
quoted,  "  *  Over  the  top  of  whichever  glass  the  serv'nt 
is  offerin'  to  fill.'  How's  that?  "  he  ended  with  pride. 
"  I'll  sit  up  with  that  measly  book  ev'ry  night  till 
Friday.  By  that  time  I'll  be  — " 

"  You'll  be  so  tangled  up  you  won't  know  whether 
your  soup-plate  is  for  oysters  or  coffee,"  she  in 
terrupted.  "  Now  listen  to  me :  I'm  going  to  crowd 
into  one  inspired  lecture  all  I  can  think  of  about  dinner 
etiquette  and  other  social  chores,  for  you  to  use  that 
evening.  And  when  you  go  home,  burn  that  book 
up." 

She  forthwith  launched  upon  a  disquisition  of  such 
difficulties  as  lay  before  him  on  his  debut  as  a  diner, 
and  how  each  might  be  bridged.  After  the  first  few 
sentences,  Caleb's  attention  strayed  from  her  words  to 
her  voice.  Its  sweetness,  its  youth  and  a  peculiar  child 
like  quality  in  it  always  fascinated  him.  Now,  with 
the  added  didactic  touch,  bred  of  the  lesson  she  was 
seeking  to  teach,  he  found  it  altogether  wonderful. 

Listening  with  rapt,  almost  worshipping  attention, 
yet  noting  no  word,  the  giant  sat  huddled  up  in  an 
awkward,  happy  bunch  at  the  feet  of  the  youthful 
Gamaliel.  A  bar  of  lamplight  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street  filtered  through  the  swaying  window 


128  THE  FIGHTER 

curtains,  bringing  her  half-hidden  head  with  its  dusky 
crown  of  hair  into  vague  relief.  From  under  the 
shadowy  brows,  her  great  eyes  glowed  in  the  dim 
light.  Her  dainty,  flower  face  was  very  earnest. 
Caleb  felt  an  almost  irrestible  desire  to  pass  his  great, 
rough  palm  gently  over  her  features ;  to  catch  and  kiss 
one  of  those  tiny,  earnestly  gesturing  hands  of  hers. 
She  was  so  little,  so  young,  so  pretty.  And  she 
wasting  all  that  loveliness  on  him,  when  she  might  be 
fascinating  some  eligible  man.  The  thought  reminded 
Caleb  of  his  interview  with  Jack  Hawarden.  Curious 
to  learn  how  the  lad  had  availed  himself  of  the  per 
mission  to  woo  Desiree,  Conover  broke  in  at  her  next 
pause,  with  the  abrupt  question: 

'  Young  Hawarden  been  here  today?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Desiree  in  surprise,  "  This  noon." 

"  Ask  you  to  marry  him?  " 

"  He  told  you  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes.  Beforehand.  Didn't  he  say  I'd  gave  him 
leave?  No?  Well,  I  s'pose  he  wouldn't  be  likely  to. 
But  I  did.  Sent  him  on,  to  try  his  luck.  With  my 
blessinV 

"What  do  you  mean?     Did  that  foolish  boy — ?" 

"  Came  like  a  little  man  an'  asked  my  permission, 
as  your  guardian,  to  make  a  proposal  to  you." 

"  And  you  told  him  he  could  ?  What  business  was 
it  of  yours,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  I  told  him  it  wasn't  any  business  of  mine. 
That's  why  I  let  him  come.  If  it  was  my  business,  I'd 
have  you  shut  up  in  a  big  place  with  walls  all  around 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  129 

it;  an'  kittens  an'  canary  birds  an'  all  sorts  of  fluffy 
things  for  you  to  play  with.  An'  no  man  but  me 
should  ever  come  .within  a  hundred  miles  of  you. 
Then  there'd  be  no  danger  of  your  runnin'  off  an' 
gettin'  married  to  some  geezer  who'd  teach  you  to 
think  I  was  the  sort  of  man  that  ought  to  be  fed  in 
the  kitchen  an'  never  'lowed  in  the  parlor.  Oh,  I 
know." 

The  girl  was  looking  at  him  with  big,  inscrutable 
eyes,  as  he  halted  half-ashamed  of  his  own  words. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  after  a  little  pause,  "  I 
think  you  must  have  inherited  a  great,  great  deal  of 
ignorance,  Caleb.  For  during  the  years  while  you 
were  a  baby,  you  were  too  young  to  acquire  very  much 
of  it.  And  you  couldn't  have  acquired  all  your  pre 
sent  stock  in  the  thirty  short  years  since  that  time. 
Besides,  I  don't  think  even  Nature  can  make  a  man 
quite  foolish  unless  he  helps  her  a  little." 

"  It  sounds  fine,"  admitted  Caleb,  "But  what  does 
it  mean?  What  break  have  I  made  now?  If  it  was 
foolish  to  want  you  all  to  myself,  always  — " 

"  It  wasn't,"  she  interrupted,  "And  you  ought  to* 
know  it  wasn't.  It — " 

"Then  what?" 

"  Mr.  Caine,"  said  the  girl,  "  told  me  once  you  were 
the  cleverest  man  he  knew.  It  made  me  very  happy 
at  the  time.  And  I  was  nice  to  him  all  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon.  But  I  see  now  it  only  showed  how  few 
sensible  men  he  knew.  Let's  talk  about  something 
else." 


I3o  THE  FIGHTER 

"But  —  hold  on !  "  begged  Caleb.  "  Honest,  Dey, 
you  ought  to  think  twice  before  turnin'  down  a  chap 
like  young  Hawarden.  His  fam'ly  — " 

"  I  told  you  last  week  never  to  talk  that  way  again," 
said  Desiree,  with  a  stifled  break  in  her  voice,  "  Why 
do  you  try  to  make  me  unhappy?" 

"Me?"  gurgled  Caleb  in  an  utter  bewilderment  of 
distress.  "  Why,  little  girl,  I'd  cut  my  head  off  for 
you.  Please  don't  get  sore  on  me.  I'm  no  sort  of 
a  feller  to  talk  to  a  girl  like  you.  I'm  always  sayin' 
the  wrong  thing  without  even  knowin'  afterward  just 
what  it  was  that  hurt  you.  An'  then  I  wish  I  had 
a  third  foot,  so's  I  could  kick  myself.  It's  queer  that 
Nature  built  men  so  that  they  couldn't  kick  themselves 
or  pat  themselves  on  the  back.  Please  be  friends 
again.  I  —  I  wish  there  was  some  tea  here  I  could 
drink,  just  to  show  you  how  sorry  I  am !  " 

The  girl's  mood  had  changed.  She  laughed  with 
such  heartiness  at  his  penitential  attitude  that  he  all 
at  once  felt  full  forgiveness  was  granted.  If  there 
was  a  forced  note  in  her  gaiety,  his  duller  senses  did 
not  perceive  it. 

" Absolvo  tel"  she  intoned.  "I'm  a  little  cat  ever 
to  scratch  you;  and  I'm  silly  to  let  perfectly  harmless 
things  hurt  me.  I  don't  know  why  I  do  it.  Some 
times  I  don't  know  my  own  self  any  more  than  if  I  was 
a  Frisian  market  woman  in  a  pink  baize  bonnet  and 
number  ten  sabots.  It's  just  because  you're  so  good 
and  sweet  and  gentle  that  I  walk  all  over  you.  Be 
cause  you  let  me  do  it  I  take  out  all  my  bad,  horrid, 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  131 

nasty  tempers  on  you.  And  then  you  look  so  sur 
prised  and  unhappy  when  I  say  snippy,  mean  things 
to  you ;  or  when  I  tell  you  you  make  me  feel  badly  and 
—  oh  where  is  my  nominative  case  ?  Anyway,  you're 
my  dear,  old  splendid  chum.  And  I  wouldn't  be  so 
cranky  to  you  if  I  didn't  care  more  for  your  little 
finger  than  for  any  other  man's  head.  And  if  you'd 
only  hit  me  or  swear  at  me  now  and  then,  I'd  be  lots 
nicer.  Why  don't  you  ?  " 

Caleb,  agape,  yet  grinning  in  feeble  delight,  tried 
to  understand  part  of  this  rapid-fire  speech  of  penance. 
Almost  wholly  failing  to  grasp  her  meaning,  he 
nevertheless  gathered  that  he  was  pardoned  for  his 
unknown  offence  and  that  she  was  once  more  happy. 
Hence  the  weight  was  off  his  mind  and  he  rejoiced. 

"  And  just  to  punish  myself,"  Desiree  was  saying, 
"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  Jack  Hawarden.  He 
came  here  and  asked  me  to  marry  him.  And  I  told 
him  he  was  an  awfully  nice  boy.  And  I  felt  I  was 
unkind  and  cruel  and  a  lot  of  other  things  because  I 
had  to  tell  him  I  wasn't  in  love  with  him.  But  he 
behaved  beautifully.  He's  going  to  keep  on  coming 
to  see  me,  just  the  same  and  we're  going  to  be  just 
as  good  friends  as  ever.  But  he  says  he  isn't  going 
to  give  up  trying  to  make  me  change  my  mind.  Then 
I  changed  the  subject  by  making  him  listen  to  Sieg 
fried-Mickey  singing  "  The  Death  of  Ase."  And 
from  that  I  got  him  to  talking  about  the  things  he's 
writing.  He  says  he  believes  some  day  his  stories 
will  sell  like  wild-fire.  If  you've  never  tried  to  seM 


132  THE  FIGHTER 

wild-fire  you  can't  appreciate  what  an  eager  market 
there  is  for  it.  I  told  him  that  and  he  didn't  like  it 
very  well.  But  altogether  I  steered  him  off  from 
talking  about  marrying  me.  So  the  rest  didn't  matter 
very  much.  Did  it  ?  Are  you  sure  you  can  remember 
all  the  things  I  explained  to  you  about  that  dinner? 
At  the  musicale  itself  I  shall  try  to  get  a  chance  to 
take  you  under  my  own  wing,  and  keep  you  from 
burning  your  poor  fingers.  But  — " 

"If  you  think  I'm  goin'  to  queer  you,  at  the 
musicle,  by  taggin'  around  after  you,  you're  dead 
wrong,"  declared  Caleb.  "  You  get  'bout  as  much 
of  me  as  you  need,  here  at  your  own  house;  without 
havin'  me  scarin'  better  men  away  from  you  at  parties. 
No,  no.  I'm  goin'  to  set  in  a  corner  an'  watch  folks 
fallin'  over  'emselves  to  talk  to  you." 

"  You  big  boy !  "  she  scoffed,  tenderly.  "  In  the 
first  place,  people  sit  up  stiffly,  without  talking,  while 
the  music  is  going  on, —  at  least  they're  supposed  to. 
In  the  second,  don't  think  just  because  you're  foolish 
enough  to  like  being  with  me,  that  other  people  will. 
I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  very  tumultuous  ap 
plause  when  I  enter." 

"  It'll  be  the  hit  of  the  evenin'  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned,"  stoutly  averred  Caleb.  "I'm  goin'  out 
to  the  Arareek  Club  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  went  on, 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "  There's  a  dinner  given  to  the 
golf  champion  or  middleweight  tattin'-work-expert  or 
some  such  c'lebrity.  I'm  going  to  drop  in  for  the 
speeches.  It'll1  be  my  first  appearance  there  since 


A  LESSON  IN  IGNORANCE  133 

they  didn't  kick  me  out.  Caine's  goin'  too;  for  the 
speeches.  Him  an'  Miss  Standish,  I  b'lieve.  Won't 
you  come  along?  " 

"  I  can't,"  lamented  the  girl.  "  Mrs.  Cole  and  her 
sister  from  Denver  are  coming  in  to  see  Aunt  Mary. 
They'll  want  to  play  whist.  They  always  do.  And  I 
promised  Aunt  Mary  I'd  stay  and  make  out  the  four. 
Whist  is  such  a  jolly  game,  I  think,  —  for  people  that 
like  it.  /  hate  it.  But  I'd  be  a  splendid  player,  Aunt 
Mary  says,  if  I  could  ever  remember  what  cards  are 
out.  So  I'm  in  for  a  happy,  happy  evening.  I  wish 
they  could  ask  the  cook  to  play  instead.  Oh,  dear! 
Why  does  one  always  feel  so  horrid  when  one  is  doing 
people  a  good  turn?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  volunteered  Caleb.  "  I  never 
tried." 

"  Never  tried !  "  echoed  Desiree.  "Why  will  you 
talk  such  nonsense?  You  know  you're  ahvays  doing 
things  for  people.  Why,  the  paper  said  yesterday 
that  you  missed  your  train  back  from  the  Capital,  just 
to  take  Mr.  Blacarda  to  the  hospital  after  he  was  so 
terribly  hurt  in  the  accident." 

"  Oh,"  said  Caleb,  magnanimously,  "  That  was  only 
because  I  felt  kind  of  sorry  for  the  poor  feller." 


CHAPTER  X 

IN    THE    HOUSE    OF   RIMMON 

Conover  swung  down  the  hill  toward  the  valley  in 
whose  centre  twinkled  the  lights  of  the  Arareek  Coun 
try  Club.  He  was  still  buoyed  up  by  the  curious 
elation  that  was  always  his  after  an  hour  with  Desiree. 
For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  thousand  soft 
odors  of  the  June  dusk  carried  for  him  a  meaning ;  and 
in  every  nerve  he  was  aware  of  the  mild  glory  of  the 
night.  He  took  deep  breaths  of  the  scented  air  and 
squared  his  mighty  shoulders  as  he  strode  down  the 
slope.  It  was  good  to  be  alive;  to  feel  the  easy  play 
of  one's  perfect  muscles ;  to  be  tireless,  victorious,  and 
still  in  the  early  thirties. 

A  girl  in  a  white  dress  was  walking  a  short  distance 
ahead  of  him  as  he  neared  the  Clubhouse.  Each  long 
step  brought  Conover  nearer  to  her.  At  her  side 
walked  a  man.  The  couple  were  in  no  haste,  but 
seemed  bent  on  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  night  in 
leisurely  fashion  before  reaching  their  distination.  As 
Caleb  came  alongside,  a  few  rods  from  the  Arareek 
gates,  the  man  hailed  him.  It  was  Caine.  Conover, 
barely  remembering  himself  in  time  to  imitate  the 
other's  salute,  pulled  off  his  hat  and  slouched  toward 
the  two. 

134 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON          135 

"  Miss  Standish,"  said  Caine,  after  greeting  the 
Fighter,  "  May  I  present  Mr.  Conover  ?  " 

The  girl  held  out  her  hand  shyly.  Caleb,  as  he 
took  it,  looked  down  at  her  with  considerable  interest. 
He  was  curious  to  see  what  manner  of  woman  the 
fastidious  Caine  had  so  long  idolized;  and  to  whom, 
in  face  of  much  rumored  family  opposition,  he  had 
recently  become  engaged.  The  lights  of  the  open 
Clubhouse  door  shone  full  upon  Letty  Standish,  and 
Caleb's  first  curiosity  changed  to  something  like 
astonishment.  She  was  a  plump  little  creature,  with 
a  pretty,  slack  face.  Caleb,  versed  in  reading 
physiognomy,  saw  in  her  upturned  countenance  much 
amiability, —  of  the  sort  that  tends  to  turn  gently  sub- 
acid  under  the  right  provocation, —  a  charmingly,  com 
plete  lack  of  any  sort  of  resolution ;  and  an  intellect  as 
profound  as  that  of  an  unusually  sagacious  guinea 
pig.  Large,  delft-blue  eyes,  a  quivering  button  of  a 
nose,  a  pouting  little  mouth ;  profuse  light  brown  hair 
piled  high  above  a  narrow  forehead.  Pretty  with  the 
inherent  comeliness  of  extreme  youth,  but  — 

"  Looks  like  a  measly  rabbit ! "  thought  Conover  in 
amused  contempt,  "  An'  that's  what  Amzi  Nicholas 
Caine's  been  workin'  all  his  life  to  win,  is  it?  Gee, 
but  it's  queer  what  kinks  a  sane  man's  brain'll  take, 
where  a  woman's  concerned." 

Outwardly  he  was  listening  with  stony  immobility 
to  Letty's  timid  words  of  salutation.  As  she  paused, 
he  pulled  his  wits  together. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  he.     "  I'm  to  have  the 


136  THE  FIGHTER 

pleasure  of  takin'  dinner  at  your  house  Friday  night,  I 
b'lieve.  Thanks  for  askin'  me.  I  hope  we'll  see  more 
of  each  other." 

*"  My  aunt  and  I  are  always  glad  to  meet  Father's 
business  friends,"  returned  Letty,  ill  at  ease.  She 
had  wondered,  and  her  aunt  had  protested  loudly,  at 
Standish's  curt  announcement  that  Blacarda's  vacated 
place  at  the  table  must  be  taken  by  this  unknown  out 
sider.  Nor,  as  she  looked  at  the  stocky,  heavy- jowled 
man  and  heard  his  uncouth  speech,  did  the  mystery 
grow  clearer. 

"  You  seemed  in  a  hurry,"  observed  Caine,  re 
lieving  the  girl's  embarassment  by  taking  Conover  off 
her  hands,  "  I  think  we'll  be  in  plenty  of  time  to  hear 
all  of  the  speeches  we  care  to.  There's  the  same 
pleasing  likeness  about  them  that  there  is  about  a  string 
of  street  cars.  If  you  miss  one,  you  can  get  the  next 
and  nothing  worth  while  is  lost  by  the  omission.  At 
stag  dinners  of  course  it's  different.  Then  it  is 
always  interesting  to  note  the  inverse  ratio  between 
eloquence  and  sobriety.  But  at  these  *  Celebration ' 
dinners  the  speeches  are  warranted  to  contain  nothing 
of  dangerous  interest.  Shall  we! go  in?  " 

For  lack  of  a  gallery,  the  guests  who  had  come  to 
hear  the  speeches,  sat  in  the  double  ranks  of  chairs 
which  lined  the  large  dining  room.  Conover  and  the 
two  others  arrived  during  a  momentary  lull  between 
speeches.  Letty  was  greeted  cordially  by  such  peo 
ple  as  she  passed  on  her  way  to  her  seat.  Caleb,  as 
one  of  her  escort,  found  himself  the  object  of  more 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         137 

courtesy  than  had  ever  before  been  his  portion  at  the 
Arareek. 

This  new  warmth  of  manner  on  the  part  of  his 
fellow-members  pleased  Caleb  tremendously.  Inci 
dentally,  it  gave  him  the  germ  of  an  idea, —  vague, 
nebulous,  yet  of  promising  growth.  The  burgeoning 
germ  found  mental  expression  during  the  next  after- 
dinner  speech.  Caleb  allowed  his  shrewd  gaze  to  rest 
on  Letty  Standish,  more  critically  —  with  less  of  hum 
orous  depreciation  —  than  before.  She  sat  next  him, 
one  plump  hand  pillowing  her  slightly  receding  chin; 
her  wide  blue  eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker  in  polite  at 
tention  ;  her  small  mouth  pursed  in  a  smile  of  almost 
labored  interest. 

"  She's  better-lookin'  than  I  thought,"  mused  Con- 
over,  "  An'  she's  a  good  dresser.  Maybe  her  face 
ain't  really  so  foolish.  Starin'  at  Dey  so  much  may 
have  spoiled  me  for  other  girls.  Everybody  here 
seems  glad  to  see  this  Standish  person;  an'  some  of 
their  gladness  has  slopped  over  onto  me.  If  I'd  a 
wife  like  that  I'd  strut  right  into  the  gold-shirt  crowd 
an'  they'd  hang  up  a  '  Welcome,  Little  Stranger ! '  sign 
for  me.  If  Dey  can  get  into  the  right  set  by  marryin' 
one  of  'em,  I  guess  the  same  rule  ought  to  work  with 
me.  I'll  talk  it  over  some  time  with  Caine.  He  ought 
to  know." 

A  ripple  of  hand-clapping  roused  Caleb  from  his 
disjointed  reflections,  and  he  joined  with  vigor  in  ap 
plauding  the  speech  he  had  not  heard. 

"  What  an  easy  speaker  Mr.  Vroom  is !  "  said  Letty. 


138  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Don't  you  envy  such  men,  Mr.  Conover  ?  Don't  you 
think  it  must  be  wonderful  to  make  a  speech  without 
being  frightened  to  death?  To  stand  up  before  so 
many  people  and  just  talk  to  them  as  if — " 

"  Easiest  thing  in  the  world !  "  announced  Caleb, 
dully  irritated  at  her  praise,  "  Anyone  can  do  it.  All 
a  man  needs  is  to  say  to  himself :  *  I'm  a  blame  sight 
better,  cleverer,  bigger  man  than  any  of  this  bunch 
I'm  talkin'  down  to.'  Then  he  won't  be  afraid  of  'em. 
Because  he  despises  'em.  That's  the  way  7  always  do 
when  I've  got  a  speech  to  make.  It's  lots  easier  to 
stand  up  in  an  open-face  suit  an'  talk  like  Vroom  did 
to  a  friendly  crowd,  than  to  try  and  persuade  one 
grouchy  grocer  to  handle  your  special  brand  of  washin' 
soda.  There's  where  reel  el'quence  comes  in." 

"Yes?"  rejoined  Letty,  with  her  wavering  little 
smile.  "  How  clever  of  you  to  put  it  in  such  an 
original  way!  I  never  thought  of  that,  before." 

"Of  what?"  demanded  Caleb,  inquisitorially. 

"  Of  —  of  —  why,  of  what  you  said,  of  course. 
Now,  shan't  we  listen  to  the  toastmaster?  He's  al 
ways  so  funny,  I  think.  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Caleb.  "  He's  a  novelty  to  me. 
But  we'll  listen  if  you  like." 

He  folded  his  arms,  leaned  back  in  his  camp  chair 
and  turned  a  look  of  ponderous  gravity  upon  the  toast- 
master.  The  latter,  swaying  back  and  forth  on  his 
toes,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  was  lengthily  intro 
ducing  the  next  speaker.  At  every  third  sentence  his 
eye  would  sweep  the  room  with  a  roguish  twinkle  as 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         139 

who  should  say :  "  Make  ready  now  for  the  newest  of 
my  irresistible  quips !  "  And  the  listeners  would  obe 
diently  prepare  to  roar.  Letty's  pleasant  giggle  at 
each  sally  annoyed  Caleb.  He  could  not  say  why. 
But  involuntarily  he  glanced  toward  her  with  a  frown. 
She  chanced  to  be  looking  at  him,  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  for  companionship  in  her  appreciation  of  the 
latest  witticism.  Meeting  the  scowl,  her  nose  quiv 
ered  and  her  smile  froze  into  pitiful,  half -appealing 
lines  that  added  to  Caleb's  senseless  irritation.  But, 
by  an  effort,  he  sought  awkwardly  to  nullify  any  un 
pleasant  impression  of  him  that  she  might  have  gained. 

"What  was  that  joke?"  he  whispered,  to  explain 
his  frown.  "  I  didn't  quite  catch  it." 

"  Why,"  faltered  Letty,  "  he  said  —  he  said  —  '  the 
man  who  hesitates,  foozles.'  I  think  that  was  it. 
Something  like  that.  Or, —  was  it  —  *  the  man 
who  — '  ?  Oh,  listen !  He's  going  to  tell  that  lovely 
story  about  the  minister  who  had  to  give  up  golf  or 
the  pulpit.  I  do  want  to  hear  that !  " 

The  murmur  of  joyous  anticipation,  as  the  toast- 
master  hoisted  preliminary  warnings  for  this  classic, 
showed  that  Letty  was  by  no  means  unique  in  her 
choice  of  rechauffee  humor.  Caleb  sat  glum  under  the 
salvo  of  merriment.  Letty  glanced  sideways,  in  dawn 
ing  uneasiness,  at  his  set  face. 

"  And,"  beamed  the  toastmaster,  "  as  the  Irish  cad 
die  said  to  the  — "  ^ 

The  door  leading  from  the  butler's  pantry  burst 
open.  Through  the  aperture  into  the  bright-lit  dining 


140  THE  FIGHTER 

hall  scurried  a  red- faced,  bald-headed  man;  two  club 
servants  close  at  his  heels.  The  fugitive  was  clad  in 
a  soiled  waiter- jacket  and  a  pair  of  patched  overalls. 
Both  garments  had  evidently  been  intended  for  some 
one  much  larger.  Their  present  wearer  seemed  lost 
in  their  voluminous  folds.  Yet,  even  thus  hampered, 
he  dodged  his  pursuers  with  an  agility  little  short  of 
incredible  in  so  old  a  man. 

Darting  forward  into  the  full  blaze  of  light,  he  fled 
around  the  table.  The  two  servants  had  checked  their 
pursuit  near  the  door ;  and  now  stood  irresolute,  at  a 
loss  whether  or  not  to  continue  the  chase  into  the 
sacred  precincts  of  the  diningroom.  They  looked  for 
instructions  to  a  stout,  pompous  personage  who,  fol 
lowing  them  up  from  the  pantry,  now  blocked  the 
doorway  and  stared  bale  fully  at  the  little  old  man. 
The  latter  in  his  flight  had  come  into  violent  contact 
with  one  of  the  slender  pillars  near  the  toastmaster's 
chair.  Wrapping  both  arms  about  this,  he  slid  to  the 
floor  and  crouched  there;  still  clinging  to  the  pillar; 
making  horrible  simian  faces  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
trio  beside  the  pantry  door.  * 

At  the  apparition,  several  diners  had  jumped  ex 
citedly  to  their  feet,  (with  the  world-old  instinct  which 
taught  prehistoric  man  to  meet  danger  or  surprise, 
standing)  ;  others  had  craned  their  necks  or  shouted 
confused  queries.  One  woman  had  cried  out.  Every 
eye  in  the  room  was  upon  the  grotesque,  couchant  little 
figure  huddled  against  the  centre  pillar.  The  toast- 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         141 

master  turned  in  lofty  severity  upon  the  big  man  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Steward ! "  he  declaimed.  "  What  does  this 
mean?  " 

"I  —  I  am  extremely  sorry,  Mr.  Dillingham! "  an 
swered  the  steward,  venturing  forward.  "  I'm  sure 
I  apologize  most  sincerely.  I  wouldn't  have  had 
such  a  thing  happen  for  worlds.  We  were  short  of 
men  in  the  kitchen,  to-night,  sir.  That  —  that  old 
panhandler  over  there,  sir,"  pointing  an  abhorring  fin 
ger  at  the  refugee,  "  came  around  looking  for  an  odd 
job.  So  I  set  him  to  washing  dishes.  He  said  he'd 
stopped  off  a  train  on  his  way  from  the  West.  He 
got  at  some  of  the  wines,  sir,  when  we  wasn't  looking. 
He's  in  a  disgusting  state,  sir.  Then  one  of  my  men 
caught  him  pocketing  some  forks  and  I  told  two  of 
the  waiters  to  search  him  and  send  for  the  police. 
They  grabbed  him,  but  he  slipped  away  and  ran  in 
here.  Sol—" 

"That  will  do!  That  will  do!"  thundered  the 
toastmaster,  succeeding,  after  divers  trials,  in  break 
ing  in  upon  the  narrative.  "  Remove  him.  At  once ! 
And  as  quietly  as  you  can. —  I  am  more  sorry  than  I 
can  say,"  he  went  on  urbanely,  addressing  the  guests, 
"  that  such  a  disgraceful  scene  should  have  — " 

A  howl  from  the  man  on  the  floor  cut  short  the 
apology.  Two  servants  had  approached  to  do  the 
toastmaster's  bidding.  As  the  first  of  them  seized  him 
by  the  shoulder  the  little  man  screamed  like  a  mad  cat. 


142  THE  FIGHTER 

Locking  his  legs  about  the  pillar,  he  turned  upon  his 
assailants  with  fists  and  teeth,  fighting  with  the  deadly, 
unscientific  fury  of  a  cornered  wild  thing.  The  scrim 
mage  that  followed  set  the  room  in  dire  confusion. 
To  end  which,  the  toastmaster  so  far  unbent  as  to  rush 
among  the  combatants  and  order  back  his  myrmidons. 
The  attendants  drew  away,  disheveled,  bleeding, 
robbed  of  the  spruce  neatness  that  was  the  Arareek's 
pride.  The  defender's  jacket  had  been  torn  off. 
There  was  a  slight  cut  on  his  forehead.  But  his  little 
bloodshot  eyes  glared  with  undiminished  drunken  de 
fiance;  nor  had  his  opponents'  best  efforts  dislodged 
his  legs  from  about  the  pillar. 

"  Oh,  the  sacred  Arareek !  "  muttered  Caine,  leaning 
across  toward  Conover.  "  Dillingham  will  be  in  hys 
terics  in  another  minute.  The  sanctity  of  his  state  din 
ner  shattered  just  when  he  was  at  his  asinine  best! 
See,  some  of  the  women  are  starting  to  go.  If  they 
leave,  it'll  break  his  heart." 

But  Caleb  did  not  hear.  Almost  alone  of  all  those 
in  the  room,  he  had  shown  no  excitement.  Fights 
were  no  novelty  to  him.  Bent  forward,  yet  emotion 
less,  his  eyes  had  never  once  left  the  distorted  face  of 
the  drunken  interloper. 

"  Leave  me  be ! "  the  latter  was  demanding  in  a 
squealing  hiccough,  as  the  cessation  of  attack  left  him 
breath  for  words.  "  Leave  me  be,  can't  yer  ?  Fine 
lot  — swellsh  you  are,  to  pick  on  one  poor  old  man 
what  never  harmed  none  of  you!  Lemme  'lone! "  as 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         143 

Dillingham  with  thoughts  of  diplomacy,  edged  closer. 
"  That  —  that  feller  called  me  —  p  —  panhandler !  'S 
a  lie!  I'm  honesh,  'spectible  workin'  man.  Fought 
for  m'  country  in  S-S-Shivil  war.  Got  m'  hon'rable- 
dishcharge.  Fought  for  m'country  while  the  most  of 
you  was  in  —  in  y'r  cradles.  I'm  drunk  too,"  he  con 
fided  squinting  up  at  the  unnerved  Dillingham. 
"  Drunk  —  or  I  wouldn't  a'  stholen  thoshe  thingsh. 
Perfec'ly  shquare  when  I'm  shober.  Perf'ly. 
Learned  t'drink  while  I  was  d  —  d'fendin'  m'  country. 
I'm—" 

His  voice  scaled  a  note  or  two,  broke,  and  then 
meandered  on,  in  time  to  prevent  Dillingham's  inter 
ruption.  His  tone  had  shifted  once  more  from  the 
explanatory  to  the  pugnacious. 

"If  I  had  had  my  —  my  rightsh!"  he  bellowed, 
shrilly,  glaring  about  him.  "  I'd  be  ridin'  in  my 
carr'ge  —  m'own  carr'ge!  Yesh!  Thash  right. 
Own  carr'ge.  Got  a  boy  whoshe  rich  —  rich  man. 
Whatsh'e  do  for  me?  Noshin't'all !  Don't  ev'n 
know  I'm  'live.  Till  I  struck  Granite  t'night,  I  didn't 
know  he'sh  'live.  Firsh  time  been  here  in  twenty 
yearsh.  They  shent  m't'  jail,  lasht  time,  dammem! 
Poor  ol'  Saul  Con' ver!" 

He  broke  into  senile,  weak  sobbing.  And,  from  all 
over  the  room  rose  a  confused  whispering,  a  rustle,  an 
indefinable  electric  thrill.  Women  whose  escorts  had 
led  them  to  the  door,  halted  and  looked  back  in  crass 
interest.  Men  glanced  at  one  another,  muttering  que- 


144  THE  FIGHTER 

ries  that  found  no  answer.  Even  Dillingham  forgot 
at  last  his  faint  hope  of  restoring  the  shattered  func 
tion  to  its  former  banal  calm. 

Pair  by  pair,  all  eyes  slowly  focussed  on  Caleb  Con- 
over.  But  the  most  imaginative  gazer  could  not  de 
scry  emotion  —  whether  of  surprise,  chagrin  or  fear  — 
on  the  heavy  mask  of  the  Fighter's  face.  For  a  mo 
ment  there  was  a  hush.  The  old  man  on  the  floor 
still  sobbed  in  maudlin  fashion.  But  no  one  heeded 
him.  Then  Caine  arose. 

"  I  think,"  he  began,  his  pleasant,  low-pitched  voice 
breaking  in  like  a  dash  of  cool  water  on  his  hearers' 
superheated  senses,  "  I  think  there  is  no  need  for  any 
of  us  to  magnify  this  trifling  break  in  our  jolly  even 
ing;  nor  to  allow  it  to  mar  in  any  way  our  spirit  of 
good  fellowship.  May  I  propose  that  we  —  ?  " 

"  Hold  on,"  interposed  Caleb,  quietly.  He  got  to 
his  feet  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  Caine's  arm. 

"  You  mean  well,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  thank  you.  But 
I  think  this  is  where  /  do  the  talkin',  an'  not  you.  I've 
never  made  a  speech  here  before,"  he  went  on,  raising 
his  voice,  "  An'  I  never  expected  to.  But  I'll  ask 
you  people  to  have  patience  with  me  for  a  minute  or 
two.  Because  there's  one  or  two  things  that's  got  to 
be  said  here  an'  now.  An'  I'm  the  one  that's  got  to 
say  'em." 

He  glanced  about  him.  Never  before  in  the  Ara- 
reek  Club  had  orator  enjoyed  so  rapt  an  audience. 
The  quiet,  heavy  voice,  the  brute  magnetism  of  the 
man,  no  less  than  curiosity  as  to  how  he  would  handle 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         145 

so  impossible  a  situation,  had  already  caught  every 
one's  attention.  His  wholly  masterful  manner,  his  la 
tent  strength,  lent  a  force  of  their  own  to  his  rough 
words  as  he  went  on : 

"  Yes,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  man  doubled  up 
on  the  floor  there  is  my  father  —  I  didn't  know  till  five 
minutes  ago  that  he  was  still  alive.  I  hadn't  seen  nor 
heard  of  him  in  near  twenty-five  years;  till  he  came 
in  here,  crazy  drunk,  just  now,  an'  broke  up  your  party. 
I'm  sorry  for  what  he's  done.  If  I  could  make  any 
kind  of  rep'ration  to  you  for  the  bother  he's  caused, 
I'd  do  it.  I  guess  you  know  that.  But  I  can't.  All 
I  can  do  is  to  try  to  make  you  look  at  him  less  like  he 
was  a  mangy  dog  in  a  fit,  an'  more  as  if  he  was  a  hu 
man  like  yourselves.  That's  why  I'm  takin'  the  liberty 
to  speak  to  you  now.  Will  you  hear  me  ?  " 

The  unconscious  buzz  and  murmur  that  all  at 
once  swept  the  room  served  him  for  answer;  and  he 
continued : 

"  My  father,"  with  another  nod  toward  the  mum 
bling  figure  on  the  floor,  "  was  a  risin',  hard  workin' 
man.  He  come  of  decent  people,  an'  he  was  a  prom- 
isin'  young  chap  that  ev'rybody  liked.  That  was  the 
trouble.  Too  many  folks  liked  him;  which  is  pretty 
near  as  bad  as  bein'  liked  by  nobody.  Nothin'  pers'nal 
intended.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  he  went  to 
the  front.  There  he  learned  to  starve,  to  loaf,  to  for 
get  his  business  trainin'.  An'  he  wasn't  the  only  one, 
I  guess.  There's  where  he  learned  to  drink,  too. 
When  men  have  to  go  supperless  to  bed  on  the  wet 


146  THE  FIGHTER 

ground  after  an  all-day  march,  a  swig  of  whiskey's  a 
blessin'.  It's  a  blessin',  too,  when  it  dulls  the  mem'ry 
of  the  comrade  at  your  side  that  was  blowed  to  pieces 
by  a  shell  or  ripped  open  by  a  bay'net.  Can  you  blame 
the  soldiers  if  they  let  the  whiskey  bless  'em  so  often 
that  it  gets  to  be  a  habit? 

"  After  the  war  my  father  come  home.  There'd 
been  bands  of  music  an'  women  wavin'  handkerchi' f s 
an'  noospapers  to  call  him  an'  his  fellers  a  lot  of  hot- 
air  names  when  they  marched  off  in  their  bloo  uni 
forms  to  the  war.  When  the  boys  came  slouchin' 
back,  footsore,  ragged,  an'  so  thin  they  looked  like 
walkin'  embalmer  advertisements,  there  wasn't  quite 
so  much  cheerin'.  My  father'd  gone  away  a  brisk, 
fine  set-up  lad,  leavin'  good  work  behind  him.  He 
come  back  like  a  good  many  thousand  others,  none  the 
better  for  a  four-year  course  in  shiftlessness,  booze  an' 
no  reg'lar  work. 

"  The  folks  who'd  cheered  him  when  he  went  to 
fight  for  'em  had  cheered  away  a  lot  of  their  spare 
patri'tism  by  that  time.  There  wa'nt  enough  of  it 
left  in  Granite  to  give  my  father  a  fair  start  in  the 
world  again.  Because  he'd  learned  to  drink,  to  loaf, 
to  be  uneasy  an'  unreliable  when  he  worked,  they  for 
got  he'd  picked  up  those  tricks  while  he  was  defendin' 
their  country.  Heroes  was  a  drug  in  the  market.  If 
any  of  you  fellers  know  how  it  feels  to  get  down  to 
work  the  day  after  your  fortnight's  vacation,  maybe 
you  can  understand  what  it  meant  to  him  to  settle 
down  to  a  job  after  four  years  in  the  open." 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         147 

Conover  glanced  again  at  his  father.  The  old  man 
had  ceased  to  mumble  and  was  trying  to  follow  the 
Fighter's  speech.  The  slack  jaw  had  tightened;  and 
the  huddled  form  was  struggling  slowly  to  its  feet. 

"  He  tried  to  work,"  resumed  Conover,  "  but 
younger,  smarter  folks  with  steadier  business  trainin' 
was  grabbin'  all  the  good  jobs.  Yet  he  got  what  he 
could,  an'  for  awhile  he  did  the  best  he  knew  how. 
Then  he  saw  a  chance  to  make  things  easier  for  my 
mother  an'  me.  He'd  been  used  to  seein'  his  off'cers 
in  the  army  paddin'  expense  accounts  an'  gettin'  graft 
on  fodder  bills  an'  such.  He'd  seen  contractors  grow 
rich  by  sellin'  the  Gov'ment  shoddy  blankets  an'  rotten 
food.  Was  it  any  worse  for  him  to  scamp  weights 
on  the  coal  scales  ?  That's  what  he  done.  Not  in  big 
quantities  as  if  he  was  a  financier;  but  a  few  cents  a 
day  as  he  got  the  chance. 

"  That  was  his  mistake.  If  he'd  stole  a  million  he'd 
a'  been  a  big  man  in  Granite.  But  he  hadn't  the  brain 
to  do  more'n  foller,  a  long  way  off,  the  example  of 
the  men  he'd  been  taught  to  obey  for  four  years.  Be 
cause  he  stole  so  little  an'  so  stoopidly,  they  found  him 
out.  They  didn't  stop  to  ask  if  he'd  used  the  mis- 
er'ble  little  sums  of  pilfered  money  to  make  his  home 
happier  an'  buy  things  for  his  sick  wife.  Those  ar 
guments  don't  cut  much  ice  in  law.  He  was  just  a 
common  thief.  An'  they  sent  him  to  States  prison. 
Me  an'  my  mother  could  starve,  for  all  the  law  cared. 
The  bread  winner  was  locked  up.  That  was  all  holy 
Justice  asked  for.  We  could  die  of  hunger  if  we 


148  THE  FIGHTER 

wanted  to,  now  that  the  law  had  taken  away  the  man 
who  had  stole  to  keep  us  alive. 

"  I  guess  you  folks  has  read  of  the  way  men  get 
treated  in  those  places  where  the  State  gives  'em  a 
chance  to  repent  of  their  sins.  For  five  years  my 
father  lived  in  a  stone  cubbyhole  an'  had  for  chums  a 
choice  c'lection  of  the  Devil's  Own  Brigade.  Not  a 
soul  in  all  that  time  to  speak  a  decent  word  to  him, — 
to  say  *  Please,'  in  givin'  him  his  orders.  It  sounds 
like  a  small  thing  to  have  no  one  say  '  Please '  to  you. 
But  try  it  some  time. 

"  After  five  years  of  herdin'  with  beasts, — only 
bein'  treated  worse'n  the  S.  P.  C.  A.  would  let  any 
beast  be  treated, —  they  turned  my  father  loose. 
They'd  set  the  prison  mark  on  him;  they'd  taught  him 
to  keep  comp'ny  with  blackguards;  they'd  made  him 
callous  to  everything  decent,  an'  taken  away  his  citi 
zenship.  Havin'  done  which,  they  gen'rously  sets  hin. 
free  an'  gives  him  a  chance  to  be  a  Godfearin',  upright 
man  in  future.  Who'll  hire  a  convict?  Who'll  give 
him  a  show  ?  No  one  —  You  know  that  as  well  as  I 
do.  How  can  he  hold  up  his  head  among  men  who 
haven't  had  the  bad  luck  to  be  caught?  What  was 
left  for  my  father  to  do?  To  'sociate  with  the  only 
class  that'd  take  him  as  an  equal.  To  turn  to  the 
drink  that  made  him  forget  they'd  branded  him  as  an 
outcast.  That's  what  he  did.  I  ain't  sayin'  it's  right. 
I  ain't  sayin'  that  Saul  Conover's  a  noble  lookin'  work 
of  God  as  he  slinks  against  that  post  there.  The 
drink  that  comforted  him  so  long  has  knocked  out  his 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON         149 

manhood.  The  hard  luck  an'  starvin'  has  turned  him 
old  and  ugly  an'  bad-shaped.  In  short,  he's  what 
S'ciety  an'  a  lovin  Paternal  Gov'ment  has  made  him. 
An' — he's  my  father,  God  help  him!  An'  the  man 
who  says  I'm  ashamed  of  him,  lies !  " 

Amid  the  oppressed  silence,  Caleb  Conover  crossed 
over  to  where  his  father  stood  cowed  and  half-sobered. 
As  gently  as  a  woman,  he  put  his  arm  about  the  old 
man's  twisted  shoulders  and  drew  him  toward  the 
door.  A  lane  was  made  for  their  passage.  From 
somewhere  in  the  crowd  came  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
stifled  sob.  Jack  Hawarden  impulsively  clapped  his 
hands  together.  There  was  an  instant's  shocked 
silence.  Then  —  no  one  could  afterward  explain  why 
—  the  lad's  example  was  followed  from  all  quarters 
of  the  dining  hall;  and  a  rattle  of  incongruous  ap 
plause  re-echoed  through  the  place. 

As  Conover,  half-leading,  half-supporting  the  wi 
zened  form,  neared  the  door,  young  Hawarden  barred 
his  path.  With  boyish  hero-worship  shining  in  his 
eyes,  Jack  thrust  out  his  hand.  Caleb  gripped  it  in 
silence  and  passed  on,  out  into  the  darkness.  None 
followed  the  strange  pair  as  they  left  the  clubhouse. 

Neither  father  nor  son  spoke  a  word  until  they 
were  alone  in  the  starlit  road,  far  beyond  earshot  of 
the  club.  Then  Caleb  stopped,  glancing  back  as 
though  fearful  lest  some  inquisitive  guest  might  have 
come  out  to  witness  the  sequel  to  the  banquet  hall 
scene.  The  night  air  had  still  further  cleared  the 
drink- fog  from  the  old  man's  brain.  Clutching  his 


150  THE  FIGHTER 

son  by  the  sleeve,  and  tremblingly  patting  the  Fighter's 
big  hand,  he  whimpered : 

"  Gawd  bless  you,  boy !  It's  a  proud  man  I  am  this 
night.  You're  not  ashamed  of  your  poor  old  father 
what  worked  so  hard  for  you  an'  loves  you  so  an'  — " 

With  a  gesture  of  loathing,  Caleb  shook  off  the 
weak  clasp. 

"  You  measly  old  crook !  "  he  snarled.  "  Keep 
your  dirty  hands  off  me !  Here !  "  thrusting  a  roll  of 
bills  upon  him.  "  Take  this  an'  get  out  of  town  by 
the  next  train.  Write  me  where  to  forward  money 
an'  I'll  see  you  get  enough  to  keep  you  drunk  till  you 
die.  But  if  you  ever  set  foot  in  Granite  again  I'll 
have  you  railroaded  to  jail  for  life.  An',  after  this, 
don't  spring  that  Civil  War  yarn  again.  Civil  war 
hard-luck  stories  are  played  out.  Besides,  you  were 
never  within  two  hundred  miles  of  the  war ;  and  you 
know  you  weren't.  Don't  lie  when  you  don't  have  to. 
It  spoils  your  skill  for  nec'ssary.  lies.  Now,  get  away 
from  here !  Chase ! " 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    PEACE    CONFERENCE 

"  I  d®n't  know  why  we  were  all  so  carried  away  by 
it,"  said  Caine,  reflectively.  "  I've  been  thinking  it 
over.  There  was  much  more  bathos  than  pathos ;  and 
a  delightful  absence  of  both  elegance  and  eloquence 
about  his  speech.  Yet  for  a  moment  I  was  almost 
tempted  to  join  in  your  charmingly  ill-timed  applause. 
The  whole  thing  savored  of  cheap  melodrama. 
But—" 

"  It  was  the  man  himself.  Not  what  he  said,"  an 
swered  Jack  Hawarden,  eager  in  defense  of  his  new- 
built  idol.  "  He  stood  there  facing  a  crowd  that 
would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  annihilate 
him.  That  drunken  Thing  on  the  floor  was  enough 
by  itself  to  ruin  him  forever  at  the  Arareek.  Yet 
Conover  made  us  listen  and  he  swayed  us  to  suit  him 
self.  Not  by  what  he  said,  but  by  his  own  big 
strength,  I  think.  There's  something  about  him  I 
don't  understand.  But  he's  a  man.  And,  after  to 
night, —  whatever  the  others  say  —  I  take  my  hat  off 
to  him." 

"  For  the  perfecting  of  a  young  author's  style,"  ob 
served  Caine,  irrelevantly,  "  what  sample  of  nervous 


152  THE  FIGHTER 

English  can  be  finer  than  Carlyle's  '  Heroes  and  Hero 
Worship?' " 

His  raillery  jarred  on  the  boy's  enthusiasm  and 
checked  the  gush  of  extravagant  praise.  Letty 
Standish,  with  whom  the  two  were  walking  home 
from  the  Club,  took  advantage  of  Jack's  snubbed 
silence,  to  put  in  a  word. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Hawarden  is  right,  Amzi,"  she  ven 
tured.  "  There's  something  about  Mr.  Conover  that 
one  can't  very  well  define.  I  think  he  could  make  one 
do  anything  he  chose.  I  know  /  was  almost  —  afraid 
of  him, — before  I'd  known  him  ten  minutes.  I  don't 
quite  think  I  like  him.  He's  so  powerful,  so  rough,  so 
domineering.  Not  like  anyone  I  ever  met  before. 
But,"  with  a  slight  shudder,  "  I  believe  I'd  do  what 
ever  he  ordered  me  to.  Especially  if  he  scowled  at 
me  in  that  bullying  way,  with  his  eyes  half -shut. 
Isn't  it  funny  to  feel  like  that  about  a  person  you 
hardly  know  ?  " 

She  ended  with  a  nervous  laugh,  and  looked  up  at 
jCaine  with  a  pretty,  helpless  air  of  seeking  protection. 
Amzi  always  found  this  appealing  attitude  irresistible. 
If  social  longings  were  Conover's  "  feet  of  clay,"  Letty 
Standish  served  as  a  similar  pedal  handicap  for 
Caine.  He  wished  young  Hawarden  had  not  thrust 
himself  upon  the  tete-a-tete  of  their  homeward  walk. 
He  wanted,  loverlike,  to  reassure  Letty  with  unspeak 
ably  doughty  promises  of  safeguard  from  peril ;  to  see 
her  soft  round  eyes  raised  to  his  in  the  admiration  such 
protestations  are  wont  to  excite  between  very  young 


A  PEACE  CONFERENCE  153 

or  very  old  lovers.  But  Jack  was  doggedly  treading 
along  beside  them  in  all  the  charming  ignorance  of  his 
age  and  temperament.  The  boy's  sulks  were  even 
now  dissolving  and  he  joined  again  in  the  talk;  still 
harping  on  his  hero. 

"  I  never  met  Conover  till  this  morning,"  said  he. 
"  I  wish  now  I'd  known  him  better.  It's  queer  I  never 
met  him  at  Miss  Shevlin's.  She's  his  ward,  you 
know." 

Letty,  to  whom  he  spoke,  answered  with  a  tinge  of 
the  latent  sub-acid  in  her  gentle  voice : 

"  I  didn't  know.  But  I've  noticed  things  about 
Miss  Shevlin  that  made  it  seem  quite  likely." 

"  Miss  Shevlin,"  said  the  boy,  hotly,  "  is  the  pret 
tiest,  brightest,  best-bred  girl  I  ever  knew.  If  you 
mean  she  is — " 

"  I  dare  say,"  answered  Letty  with  elaborate  care 
lessness.  "  But  I  never  noticed  her  especially." 

"  I  don't  see,"  persisted  Jack,  "  how  you  could  have 
helped  it.  She's  the  sort  of  girl  everyone  notices. 
There's  something  about  her  — " 

"  Why,  what  a  zealous  champion  she  has !  "  ex 
claimed  Letty,  playfully,  her  laughter  ringing  thin. 
"  I  congratulate  her." 

"You  needn't,"  retorted  Jack.     "And  I'm  afraid 

you'll  never  even  have  a  chance  to  congratulate  me. 
j » 

"  By  the  way,  Hawarden,"  interposed  Caine,  lazily 
pouring  oil  on  the  churned  waters,  according  to  his 
wont.  "  I  read  your  Scribner's  story  to-day.  I  can 


154  THE  FIGHTER 

congratulate  you  on  that,  at  any  rate,  can't  I  ?  It  was 
decidedly  good.  I  wondered  at  your  knowledge  of 
human  nature," 

Hawarden's  chest  swelled.  At  twenty-two,  who 
does  not  know  human  nature  as  never  can  it  be  known 
in  later  years?  And  who  does  not  rejoice  at  recogni 
tion  of  that  vast  knowledge? 

"  I've  had  some  experience  with  life,  in  my  time," 
said  Jack,  darkly.  "  And  I  paint  my  fellow-man  as 
I  see  him.  Not  as  he  ought  to  be.  But  as  he  is.  If  I 
seem  merciless  in  my  character  drawing  — " 

"  You  do  indeed !  "  began  Caine.  But  a  fit  of  very 
well  executed  coughing  cut  short  his  righteous  praise. 
Jack,  disappointed,  sought  to  lead  the  talk  back  to 
the  former  happy  theme. 

"  I'm  writing  a  story  now,"  he  said,  "  that  is  bigger 
in  every  way  than  anything  I've  done  before.  But  I 
can't  decide  yet,  even  in  my  own  mind,  whether  it  is 
very  good  or  very  bad.  It  is  one  or  the  other.  I 
know  that." 

"If  it's  enough  of  either,"  replied  Caine,  "  it  is  cer 
tain  to  make  a  popular  hit." 

"  I've  made  De  —  Miss  Shevlin  my  heroine,"  pur 
sued  Hawarden,  scornfully  disregarding  Caine's  un 
timely  flippancy.  "  But  it's  hard  to  put  a  girl  like  her 
on  paper  the  way  one  sees  her  in  one's  mind.  I  wrote 
a  poem  about  her  once.  Harper's  Magazine  accepted 
it." 

He  paused.  Then,  ridden  by  the  demon  of  truth, 
added  with  reluctance,  "  They  published  it  in  fine  print 


A  PEACE  CONFERENCE  155 

over  toward  the  end.  But,"  more  buoyantly,  "  I  saw 
it  copied  afterward  in  no  less  than  two  papers." 

"  Why  don't  you  put  Mr.  Conover  into  a  story, 
too  ?  "  suggested  Letty,  unwilling  not  to  seem  quite  at 
home  in  so  profound  a  literary  discussion.  "  Would 
n't  he  make  a  good  character?  He's  so — *' 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  decided  the  boy,  judicially 
weighing  his  verdict.  "  He's  more  of  a  man  than 
anyone  else  in  all  my  experience.  But  he  wouldn't 
quite  fit  into  a  story,  I'm  afraid.  You  see,  he  lacks 
romance,  for  one  thing.  One  could  hardly  fancy 
Caleb  Conover  in  love.  And  then  —  unless  you  count 
this  evening's  affair  —  I  doubt  if  he  was  ever  in  an 
adventure  of  any  sort  in  his  life.  His  character,  from 
a  literary  viewpoint,  doesn't  lend  itself  to  action  or 
analysis.  In  making  the  study  of  human  nature  my 
hobby,  I  have — " 

"  I  see ! "  broke  in  Letty,  almost  sharply.  "  You 
are  quite  right.  He  would  be  impossible  in  a  story  — 
as  he  is  in  real  life !  " 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  demurred  Caine.  "  Not  im 
possible.  Improbable,  at  worst.  I  am  afraid  a  great 
many  people  in  Granite  will  find  that  out  before  he  is 
through." 

They  had  reached  the  Standish  home.  Hawarden 
bade  them  good-night  at  the  door;  declining  Letty's 
perfunctory  invitation  to  come  in.  The  evening  was 
still  young.  But  the  lack  of  cordiality  in  Letty's  voice 
grated  on  his  armor  of  youth.  He  reflected  some 
what  belatedly  that  she  and  Caine  were  engaged  and 


156  THE  FIGHTER 

that  it  was  possible  they  might  find  themes  even  more 
alluring  than  literature  to  talk  over,  together.  So,  un 
willing,  he  left  them. 

Caine  and  Letty  strolled  slowly  up  the  walk.  The 
night  was  cool,  for  June.  So,  ignoring  the  lounging 
chairs  on  the  veranda,  they  passed  into  the  house. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  last  evenings  we  can  sit  in 
doors,"  commented  Letty.  "  It's  hard  to  realize  that 
summer  is  so  near.  I  suppose  this  week  will  wind  up 
the  season.  Everywhere  else  except  in  old-fashioned 
Granite,  it  must  have  ended  weeks  ago." 

"  Yes.  We're  old-fashioned  here  in  Granite,"  said 
Caine,  seating  himself  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  into 
which  she  had  thrown  herself.  "  I  think  somebody 
once  left  an  1860  calendar  in  this  town,  and  we've  all 
been  living  by  it  ever  since.  We're  like  the  scaly, 
finny  Oldest  Inhabitants  in  the  poem,  who  dreamed 
away  their  lives  in  the  coral  grove,  while  a  seven  stanza 
storm  roared  across  the  ocean  overhead.  When  the 
storm  of  progress  cuts  a  little  below  the  surface  we 
Granite  folk  blink  upward  from  our  dreams  in  pained 
disapproval.  I  think  that's  why  we  look  askance  at 
Conover.  He  represents — " 

"  Oh,  am  I  to  have  that  dreadful  creature's  name 
forever  dinned  into  my  ears  ? "  complained  Letty. 
"  In't  it  enough  that  Father  makes  us  ask  him  here  to 
dinner,  Friday;  without  your  talking  forever  about 
him  in  the  little  while  people  leave  us  alone  together? 
In  another  minute  Aunt  Lydia  will  be  pottering  in  to 
play  propriety.  And  then — " 


A  PEACE  CONFERENCE  157 

"  And  then,  '  Fly  from  the  Aunt,  thou  sluggard ! ' 
shall  be  my  motto,"  finished  Caine.  "  I  wish  her  vir 
tues  didn't  oppress  me  so.  I  wouldn't  object  to  her  so 
much,  if  someone  whose  vocabulary  was  as  limited  as 
his  knowledge  of  heaven's  personnel,  hadn't  once  de 
scribed  her  looks  as  '  Saintly.'  She  has  been  trying  so 
hard  to  live  up  to  the  picture,  ever  since,  that  it's  a 
bit  wearing  on  poor  sinners  like  me." 

"  It's  wicked  to  be  so  sacrilegious,"  returned  Letty, 
primly.  "And  I  don't  like  to  have  you  speak  so  of 
my  family.  After  all,  she  is  my  aunt." 

"  Don't  think  for  a  moment  I'm  blaming  you  for 
that,  sweetheart,"  he  protested  with  an  earnestness 
that  left  Letty  as  usual  in  doubt  whether  or  not  he  had 
perpetrated  some  witticism  she  ought  to  have  seen. 
Taking  hasty  mental  review  of  their  talk,  she  de 
cided  he  had  not,  and  went  on : 

"  And  her  face  is  saintly.     You  know  she  — " 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  he  acquiesced.  "  But  what  a  pity 
Fra  Angelico  and  Rafael  couldn't  have  seen  her! 
Then  we  should  have  had  all  those  cherubs  and  red- 
fand-gold  angels  of  theirs  depicted  with  thin  gray  hair 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  with  gray  switches  and  half- 
inch  eye-glasses." 

"  You  have  grown  coarse  from  associating  with 
that  Conover  man,"  pouted  Letty.  "  It's  —  it's  in 
delicate  to  speak  of  switches.  And  it  hurts  my  feel 
ings  cruelly  to  have  you  abuse  the  people  I  love !  " 

The  tears,  always  comfortably  near  the  surface, 
trembled  in  Letty's  voice  and  eyes.  Caine,  in  a  fever 


158  THE  FIGHTER 

of  remorse,  begged  forgiveness  and  tried  to  put  his 
arm  about  her.  But  she  drew  away  with  a  little  hunch 
of  the  shoulders. 

"  You've  spoiled  my  evening!  "  she  wailed.  "  First 
you  introduced  that  miserable  man  to  me  and  made 
him  frighten  me,  and  now  you  make  fun  of  — " 

Footsteps  crossing  the  hall  brought  her  tale  of 
wrong  to  an  abrupt  halt.  She  sat  up  and  furtively 
mopped  her  eyes.  Tears  were  so  common  and  so  easy 
a  relief  to  her  that  normally  they  left  scant  mark  of 
their  presence.  Caine  rose  and  faced  the  door;  the 
distressed  lover  merging  as  by  magic  into  the  bored, 
suave  man  of  the  world. 

Reuben  Standish's  widowed  sister-in-law  glided  into 
the  room,  diffusing  an  aura  of  mild  beneficence  that 
struck  Caine's  nerves  to  the  raw.  Her  near-sighted 
eyes  turned  as  in  lofty  benediction  upon  the  lovers; 
her  thick  glasses  diffusing  and  magnifying  the  glance 
until  it  seemed  to  embrace  all  the  visible  world. 

Mrs.  Standish,  on  the  death  of  her  husband,  had 
come  to  keep  house  for  her  widower  brother-in-law. 
She  had  brought  with  her  her  orphaned  grandnephew, 
Clive,  (only  son  of  Letty's  elder  brother,  long  dead), 
whose  upbringing  was  at  once  her  chief  visible  claim  to 
sanctity  and  her  scriptural  thorn  in  the  flesh. 

"Clive  has  been  so  bad  again  this  evening!"  she 
said  with  a  sigh,  after  a  distant  greeting  to  Caine,  "  I 
suppose  these  crosses  are  sent  to  us.  But  sometimes 
I  am  nearly  tempted  to  wonder  why.  I  actually 


A  PEACE  CONFERENCE  159 

caught  him  tacking  his  grandfather's  slippers  to  the 
floor,  where  I  had  left  them,  in  front  of  the  chiffonier, 
in  Mr.  Standish's  room.  I  locked  him  in  the  nursery 
for  an  hour  while  I  prayed  to  see  my  duty  clear.  And 
when  I  went  to  him,  strengthened  and  inspired  to 
make  him  see  his  fault,  what  do  you  think  I  found  him 
doing?  The  hardened  boy  was  actually  drawing 
caricature,  depicting  his  grandfather  trying  to  walk 
in  the  tacked-down  slippers.  He  had  not  even  the 
grace  to  hide  it  when  he  saw  me  coming.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  whip  him.  So  I  have 
sent  him  out  to  cut  a  small  stick." 

"  Poor  little  chap !  "  muttered  Caine,  stifling  a  smile. 
He  was  fond  of  the  boy,  who  in  turn  idolized  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  went  on  Amzi,  aloud,  "  If,  instead  of 
whipping  him,  you  could  let  me  talk  to  him  and  ex 
plain—" 

"  Aunt  Lydia ! "  piped  a  voice  from  the  doorway. 
A  little  Eton-suited  boy  with  a  mop  of  yellow  hair 
and  sorrowful  dark  eyes,  hesitated  on  the  threshold. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  added  the  child,  coming  into 
the  room  and  walking  straight  up  to  Mrs.  Standish. 

«T     >» 

"  Where  is  the  stick  ?  "  asked  Nemesis,  her  glasses 
reflecting  less  sanctity  than  was  their  custom,  as  they 
sought  a  glimpse  of  the  hands  Clive  held  clasped  be 
hind  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  replied  the  boy,  apologetically.  "  It 
was  so  dark  I  couldn't  find  a  stick.  "  But,"  with  a 


160  THE  FIGHTER 

propitiatory  smile,  as  he  brought  his  hands  forward, 
"  Here  are  two  stones  you  can  throw  at  me,  instead, 
if  you  like." 

Caine's  laughter  exploded;  breaking  in  with  scan 
dalous  intrusion,  upon  the  penitential  scene. 

"  Mr.  Caine,"  said  Mrs.  Standish,  her  coldly  right 
eous  rebuke  rising  above  Letty's  milder  reproval,  "  I 
think,  perhaps,  for  discipline's  sake,  it  might  be  well 
for  you  to  end  your  call  before  you  do  anything  more 
to  make  this  wicked  boy  regard  his  fault  as  a  matter 
for  levity." 

Caine  glanced  in  humorous  appeal  toward  Letty. 
But  his  fiancee,  as  usual  in  matters  of  family  crisis, 
only  stared  back  in  piteous  fear. 

"Mr.  Caine,"  called  Clive,  as  the  visitor  completed 
somewhat  frigid  adieux  and  moved  toward  the  door, 
"  I  am  very  sorry  I  got  you  into  trouble.  I'm  afraid 
Aunt  Lydia  don't  quite  understand  us  men." 


CHAPTER  XII 

INTO   AN   UNKNOWN   LAND 

The  red-haired  man  was  fighting. 

He  had  always  been  fighting.  But  tonight  he  must 
wield  weapons  whereof  he  had  no  experience;  un 
skilled,  must  meet  deft  opponents  on  their  own  ground. 
The  thought  thrilled  him,  with  the  joy  of  the  born 
fighter. 

The  hour  for  the  Standish  dinner  was  seven;  that 
the  meal  might  be  well  over  before  the  musicale  guests 
should  begin  to  arrive.  Caleb  rang  the  Standish  bell 
at  twenty  minutes  before  seven.  The  manservant 
who  admitted  him  managed  to  convey  from  behind  a 
totally  mask-like  face  that  there  was  something  amiss 
with  the  arrival.  Glancing  into  the  drawing  room  as 
he  followed  a  maid  to  the  men's  dressing  room  up 
stairs,  Caleb  saw  it  was  quite  devoid  of  guests.  In 
fact,  a  servant  was  lighting  the  lamps  there.  The 
dressing  room,  too,  was  deserted. 

Conover  was  vaguely  puzzled.  Surely  the  invita 
tion  had  fixed  the  hour  for  seven  ?  And  he  was  nearly 
twenty  minutes  ahead  of  time.  At  functions  such  as 
he  was  wont  to  attend,  people  always  began  to  drop  in 
nearly  half  an  hour  beforehand.  So  fearful  had  he 
been  tonight  of  breaking  some  unknown  social  rule, 

161 


162  THE  FIGHTER 

that  he  had  allowed  a  full  twenty  minutes  leeway. 
Yet  he  was  very  palpably  the  first  to  arrive.  This 
perplexed  and  shamed  him.  It  even  shook  his  iron 
self-confidence.  He  caught  himself  hoping  that  none 
of  the  Standishes  knew  he  was  there.  The  man  who 
had  with  cool  derision,  faced  hostile  legislatures,  in 
vestigation  committees  and  actual  physical  danger; 
felt  his  nerve  turning  into  nerves. 

A  tray  of  cigarettes  lay  on  the  chiffonier.  Caleb 
had  never  smoked  a  cigarette.  He  wondered  if  et 
iquette  commanded  that  he  should  do  so  now.  He 
weighed  the  matter  judicially  as  he  took  off  his  coat 
and  gloves;  then  decided  that  the  cigarettes  had  in- 
disputedly  been  put  there  to  be  smoked.  Gingerly,  he 
lighted  one.  The  aromatic  mild  flavor  of  the  smoke 
disgusted  him.  He  had  always  despised  men  who 
chose  cigarettes  in  preference  to  cigars.  Now  he  re 
garded  such  smokers  as  idiotic  rather  than  decadent. 
Yet  he  puffed  dutifully  at  the  abhorred  paper  tube  and 
pondered  on  the  probability  of  his  being  called  upon  to 
repeat  the  performance,  later,  in  the  dining  room.  He 
had  heard  of  people  smoking  cigarettes  with  dinner. 
Or,  rather,  hadn't  he  seen  pictures  of  such  a  scene? 
Yes.  Surely.  A  picture  on  a  calendar  in  the  general 
passenger  agent's  office.  But  the  smokers,  in  the 
picture,  were  women.  And  one  of  them  had  her  feet 
on  the  table.  Caleb  mentally  apologized  to  his  present 
hostesses  and  dismissed  the  theme. 

When  dinner  was  at  seven,  why  shouldn't  people 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND  163 

come  on  time?  Was  there  a  joke  in  it  somewhere? 
A  joke  on  himself?  Anything,  just  now,  seemed 
possible.  What  was  the  use  of  smoking  this  measly 
cigarette  when  there  was  no  one  to  see  ?  He  dropped 
it  into  a  bronze  dish,  went  over  to  the  cheval  glass 
and  surveyed  himself  from  head  to  foot.  Then  he 
turned ;  and,  looking  over  one  shoulder,  sought  to  see 
how  his  dress  coat  fitted  in  the  back.  The  twisting  of 
his  body  caused  a  huge  central  wrinkle  to  spring  out  be 
tween  his  shoulders,  creases  diverging  from  it.  Also 
there  was  a  spear  of  stiff  red  hair  in  the  very  center 
of  his  well-brushed  head  that  had  escaped  from  the 
combined  lures  of  pomade  and  water.  Conover 
crossed  to  the  chiffonier,  picked  up  one  of  a  pair  of 
military  brushes  and  attacked  the  rebellious  lock  with 
vigor. 

There  was  no  water  in  sight.  How  did  these  people 
expect  a  man  to  brush  his  hair  without  water?  No 
pomade,  either.  Not  even  brilliantine.  Could  it  be 
that  folk  of  the  Standish  class  did  not  use  such  aids? 
Or  did  they  keep  them  locked  up?  Caleb's  eyes  swept 
the  room  and  its  quiet  furnishings  appraisingly.  It 
did  not  represent  at  all  his  idea  of  luxury.  Not  a  bow, 
not  a  tidy,  not  a  fancy  screen  nor  a  lambrequin  in  sight. 
Yet  there  was  an  indefinable  something  about  the  place 
that  met  his  approval.  He  fell  to  walking  back  and 
forth,  uneasily;  pausing  every  now  and  then  in  front 
of  the  cheval  glass. 

Amzi  Caine,  who  had  come  early  in  the  futile  hope 


164  THE  FIGHTER 

of  a  word  alone  with  Letty  before  the  dinner,  found 
him  thus  employed.  Conover  swung  around  on  his 
friend  with  a  grunt  of  relief. 

"  Hello !  "  he  said,  his  heavy  voice  actually  cordial, 
"  I  begun  to  think  it  was  Judgment  Day  an'  that  I 
was  the  first  one  resurrected.  How'd  I  look?  All 
right  ?  Nothin'  wrong  in  this  get-up  is  there  ?  " 

"  The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form !  " 
laughed  Caine,  "  Behold  a  phenomenon !  The  worker 
of  miracles  —  and  Steeloids  —  deigns  to  ask  a  mere 
mortal's  opinion !  " 

"  All  right,  is  it?  "  said  Conover,  relieved.  "  Say," 
he  went  on  suspiciously,  "You're  guying  me!  Tell 
me  what's  wrong.  Be  honest,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  insist,"  replied  Caine,  nettled  at  the  dom 
ineering  tone,  "  I  can't  just  hint  that  most  men  don't 
wear  diamond  studs  with  evening  dress,  and  that  your 
tie  is  rather  too  evidently  a  '  masterpiece  not  made  by 
hands.'  Otherwise,  you  look  very  fit  indeed." 

Caleb  scowled  in  the  glass  at  the  flashing  studs  and 
the  ready-made  lawn  tie.  Then,  brushing  away  the 
gnat  of  worry,  he  answered,  carelessly: 

"  I  don't  like  to  dress  like  everybody  else.  Too  much 
sameness  for  me.  It's  well  enough  for  fellers  without 
an  idee  or  a  scrap  of  originality  in  their  heads.  I  like 
to  do  a  little  different." 

"  A  Beau  Brummell  come  to  Judgment ! " 
mocked  Caine,  "But  with  diamonds  rising  in  price  ten 
per  cent,  a  year,  I  hope  you  won't  set  the  fashion  just 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND          165 

yet.  You'll  break  us.  It's  all  very  well  to  dress  re 
gardless  of  expense  —  or  style  —  but  — " 

"  Let  it  go  at  that,"  ordered  Conover  sullenly, 
"  There's  something  else  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about, 
first  time  I  saw  you  alone.  You  told  me  one  day  that 
Desiree  Shevlin  could  take  any  place  she  wanted,  in 
s'ciety  here,  if  only  she  married  the  right  sort  of  a  man. 
Remember?  " 

"Why,  yes.     But—" 

"  Well, would  it  work  both  ways?  I  mean,  if  I  was 
to  marry  a  girl  who  had  a  big  social  position  in  Granite, 
would  it  help  me  on,  any?  " 

"I  —  should  think  so,"  hesitated  Caine,  overcoming 
a  desire  to  laugh  at  the  unique  idea.  "  Why  ?  Are 
you  thinking  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  thinkin'  of  it,  but  turnin'  it  over  in 
my  mind.  If  I  was  thinkin'  about  it  I'd  do  it.  That's 
my  way." 

"  Who  is  the  lucky  damsel?  "  bantered  Caine,  "  Or 
haven't  you  selected  her  yet?  " 

"  I've  about  picked  her  out,"  said  Caleb  slowly, 
"  Just  now  she's  keepin'  comp'ny  with  another  man." 

"  Of  course  you  won't  let  that  stand  in  your  way  for 
an  instant?  " 

"  No,"  returned  Caleb,  on  whom  irony  of  any  sort 
was  ever  lost,  "Of  course  not.  I  have  a  way  of 
gettin'  what  I  want.  I  only  wish,"  he  continued  with 
a  half  sigh  of  weariness,  "  that  I  could  always  keep  on 
wantin'  what  I  get." 


166  THE  FIGHTER 

Clive  Standish  ran  into  the  room.  From  one  of  the 
servants  he  had  heard  of  Caine's  arrival. 

"What  fun  to  find  you  before  you  go  down! "  he 
cried,  "  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  see  me  tonight  and  I 
knew  you'd  be  disappointed.  Aunt  Lydia  won't  let 
me  sit  up  for  the  musicale,  because  I  was  bad 
last  evening.  And  she's  made  me  learn  a  hymn  called 
'I  Know  That  God  is  Wroth  With  Me!'  besides. 
The  hymn  is  signed  *  I.  Watts.'  I  think  '  I.  Watts  ' 
must  have  been  a  very  sorrowful  person.  I  wonder  if 
God  really  disliked  him  as  much  as  '  I.  Watts '  pre 
tended.  He  — " 

The  child  checked  himself,  catching  sight  of  Caleb. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  see  there  was 
anyone  here  besides  Mr.  Caine.  Mr.  Caine,"  he  ex 
plained,  condescendingly,  "  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Go  on  with  your  gabfest  together,  then,"  vouch 
safed  Caleb,  with  an  effort  at  unbending.  "  Don't 
mind  me" 

The  boy's  brows  contracted  at  sound  of  the  false 
note  in  Caleb's  voice.  He  looked  at  the  Fighter  long 
and  with  frank  criticism.  Caleb  bore  the  scrunity  with 
visible  discomfort.  He  was  not  fond  of  children  and 
did  not  understand  them.  Having  had  no  child 
hood  himself  he  could  nowhere  meet  them  on  equal 
terms.  Yet,  as  this  slender,  Eton-suited  youngster 
was  apparently  a  relative  of  Letty's  and  a  member  of 
the  same  household,  he  sought  to  improve  the  ac 
quaintance. 

"  I  know  a  little  rat  about  your  age,"  he  began, 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND          167 

with  elephantine  geniality,  "His  name's  Billy  Shevlin. 
Smart  boy,  too.  Sharp  as  a  whip.  Ever  meet  him  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Clive,  "  I  think  not." 

"  No  ?  You  wouldn't  be  likely  to,  I  s'pose.  While 
you're  home,  evenin's,  learnin'  hymns,  he's  out  learnin' 
life.  Spends  most  of  his  evenin's  round  at  the 
fire-house.  Why,  that  kid  knows  the  name  of  each 
engine  in  town  the  minute  he  hears  'em  whistle." 

Clive's  eyes  grew  wistful  with  envy;  yet  abated 
none  of  the  unconscious  criticism  wherewith  they  were 
still  scrutinizing  the  Fighter.  His  lack  of  response 
confused  Caleb;  who  started  off  on  a  new  tack. 

"  Yes,  Billy's  a  great  boy.  He  used  to  have  a  lot  of 
cunnin'  tricks,  too,  when  he  was  little.  He's  out- 
growin'  'em  now.  Used  to  tiptoe  up  behind  me  an' 
put  both  his  dirty  little  hands  over  my  eyes  an'  say: 
'  Guess  who's  here  ? '  An'  then  I'd  guess  '  General 
Grant '  an'  *  Abe  Lincoln  '  and  *  Queen  Victoria  '  an' 
'  Tom  Platt '  an'  a  lot  of  other  big  guns ;  till  all  of  a 
sudden  I'd  guess  *  Billy  Shevlin ! '  An'  he'd  squeal 
out  '  Yes ! '  Not  much  sense  in  it.  But  kind  of  cute 
for  such  a  little  feller.  I  remember  some  folks  were 
callin'  there  one  day  an'  I  wanted  him  to  play  that 
game,  to  show  off  before  'em.  But  he  was  kind  of 
bashful  and  wouldn't.  An'  that  made  me  mad;  so  I 
cuffed  him  over  the  head.  An'  since  then,  somehow, 
he's  never  played  it  any  more." 

"  I  don't  wonder !  "  gasped  Clive.  "I  —  excuse  me, 
sir,"  he  caught  himself  up,  "I  didn't  mean  to  be 
rude." 


1 68  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Go  ahead !  "  laughed  Caleb,  "  That  aint  rude.  It's 
bein'  honest.  Don't  let  'em  make  a  Miss  Nancy  of  you 
by  teachin'  you  to  'pologize  an'  say  'please,'  an'  '  Sir ' 
an'  all  those  folderols." 

"  I  like  to  say  them,"  retorted  Clive,  "And  I'm  not 
a  Miss  Nancy.  Last  week  I  thrashed  a  boy  two  years 
older  than  I  am." 

"  Look  out,  Conover !  "  warned  Caine,  solemnly, 
"  He  may  pick  you  for  the  next  victim." 

At  the  sound  of  the  name,  Clive  had  glanced 
sharply  at  Caleb. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  put  in,  now,  "  But  you 
aren't  '  Brute  '  Conover,  are  you?  " 

"  Clive ! "  admonished  Caine,  with  what  severity  he 
could  summon  up. 

"  I  b'lieve  I've  been  called  that  a  few  times,"  an 
swered  Caleb,  in  high  good  humor.  "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Clive,  backing  toward  the  door, 
"  from  what  I  read  in  the  newspapers  about  you, — 
and  from  something  I  once  heard  Grandpapa  say, —  I 
don't  think  I  care  to  know  you,  Mr.  Conover.  I'm 
sorry.  Good  night." 

Caleb  Conover  had  not  known  there  were  so  many 
kinds  of  forks  in  existence.  From  his  oyster  plate 
they  stretched  away  to  the  left  in  what  seemed  an  in 
terminable  vista.  Had  Desiree  told  him  to  begin  with 
the  left-hand  fork  and  work  inward,  as  the  courses 
progressed  ?  Or  was  it  the  right-hand  fork  he  was  to 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND         169 

begin  with  and  work  outward?  A  furtive  glance  at 
Letty,  on  his  right,  solved  the  problem. 

Then,  the  same  glance  sweeping  the  table,  he  found 
he  was  the  only  person  whose  doubled  napkin  had  not 
disappeared.  He  pulled  it  unnoticed  down  to  his 
knee.  A  roll  fell  from  its  hidden  interior  and  crashed 
to  the  floor  with  a  report  that  sounded  to  him  loud 
enough  to  shake  the  house.  But  the  sound  passed  un 
heard,  in  the  ripple  of  talk.  Caleb  kicked  the  offend 
ing  bit  of  bread  further  under  the  table  and  sombrely 
attacked  his  oysters. 

A  cocktail  had  heralded  the  meal.  This,  with  his 
glass  of  dry  sherry,  now  began  little  by  little  to  cut 
away  the  Fighter's  crust  of  stark  self -consciousness. 
He  was  not  wont,  of  late  years,  to  touch  liquor  at  all ; 
although  in  early  days  his  Gargantuan  drinking  bouts 
had  been  the  wonder  of  the  local  Underworld.  On 
his  unaccustomed  senses  the  slight  stimulant  now 
acted  with  redoubled  force.  It  sharpened  his  wits, 
banished  his  first  feeling  of  stiff  discomfort,  enabled 
him  to  come  out  of  himself  and  take  note  of  what 
went  on  about  him. 

Caine  talking  animatedly  just  opposite,  was  never 
theless  looking  unobtrusively  at  Conover.  So  were 
Reuben  Standish  and  others  at  the  table.  To  their 
varied  relief  or  disappointment  the  big,  silent  man  had 
perpetrated  thus  far  none  of  the  capers  which  eomic 
stories  ascribe  to  parvenus.  He  handled  his  soup 
spoon  with  an  inward  sweep,  it  is  true;  but  he  ate 


1 70  THE  FIGHTER 

quietly  and  as  one  not  wholly  unaccustomed  to  civil 
ized  methods.  Desiree's  long  and  stern  training  was 
standing  him  in  good  stead. 

Letty,  emboldened  by  these  repeated  signs  of  house- 
brokenness,  ventured  a  few  perfunctory  remarks  to 
him.  Caleb  replied  briefly,  but  without  embarrass 
ment.  He  even  answered  a  question  put  him  from 
across  the  table,  with  the  same  self-possession.  Caine 
relaxed  his  nervous  vigilance.  His  reluctant  admira 
tion  for  the  newcomer  was  increasing. 

Conover,  with  the  true  fighter's  intuition,  noted  all 
the  tokens  of  his  own  well-being,  and  his  dawning 
self-possession  grew  steadily  stronger. 

The  talk  at  his  end  of  the  table  had  turned  into 
musical  channels. 

"  We  were  able  to  get  Miss  Tyson  for  the  musicale 
after  all,"  Letty  was  saying.  "  She  was  to  have  sung 
at  the  Worcester  Music  Festival,  you  know;  but  at 
the  last  moment  they  engaged  someone  else." 

"  We  are  so  grateful,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Standish, 
managing  to  inject  just  a  little  recognition  of  the  Di 
vine  into  her  tone.  "  She  has  a  wonderful  voice.  In 
Munich  she  once  sung  the  Forest  Bird  music  in  a  per 
formance  of  Siegfried.  Just  think !  One  of  our  own 
townswomen,  too ! " 

She  cast  a  vitreous  beam  athwart  the  table  as  she 
spoke.  Caine  used  to  say  that  when  Mrs.  Standish's 
glasses  diffused  that  look,  he  was  always  sore  tempted 
to  bow  his  head  and  murmur  "  Amen." 

"  Yes,"  prattled  the  Saint,  "  hers  is  a  heaven-sent 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND          171 

gift.  I  believe  that  singing  may  often  bear  a  mes 
sage  — " 

"  It's  easier,  I  should  think,"  put  in  Caleb,  suddenly 
rinding  his  tongue  as  he  set  down  his  empty  wine  glass, 
"  for  a  woman  to  sing  like  a  forest  bird  than  for  a 
bird  to  sing  songs  made  up  by  humans. 

"  F'r  instance,"  he  proceeded,  with  renewed  cour 
age,  mistaking  the  general  hush  of  surprise  for  a  grati 
fying  interest,  "  there's  a  lady  I  know  here  in  Gran 
ite  who  has  a  canary  bird  that  sings  all  about  the  death 
of  Ase.  Sings  it  fine,  too." 

Letty  giggled. 

"  So  you  are  a  Grieg  fiend,  like  so  many  other  Gran 
ite  people  just  now,  Mr.  Conover  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Me  ?  "  Caleb  exclaimed,  in  genuine  astonishment, 
"'  No,  indeed,  ma'am.  I  leave  dope  of  all  sorts 
alone." 

There  was  a  laugh.  Caleb  did  not  quite  see  the 
point,  but  felt  dimly  that  he  had  scored  a  hit.  Caine 
came  to  his  rescue. 

"  What  a  pity  the  bird  couldn't  have  been  pressed 
into  service  for  the  musicale,"  he  observed.  "  It 
would  be  a  real  comfort  to  hear  the  '  Death  of  Ase  '  in 
new  form." 

"  Oh,  he  don't  sing  all  of  it,"  amended  Caleb.  "  He 
just  sings  the  first  part.  I  forget  quite  how  it  goes. 
But  he  does  it  fine.  Only,  to  my  mind,"  with  an  air 
of  profound  criticism,  "  he  sings  it  kind  of  sprightly 
for  such  a  sad  piece.  Still,  I  s'pose  that's  a  matter  of 
taste." 


172  THE  FIGHTER 

Conover  felt  he  was  getting  on  finely.  A  most 
flattering  attention  —  far  different  from  the  slight 
aloofness  of  the  evening's  earlier  moments  —  greeted 
his  every  word.  Caine,  however,  seemed  actually 
jealous  of  his  friend's  popularity;  for  he  cut  in  now 
with  a  complete  change  of  subject. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  conjectured,  addressing  no  one  in 
particular,  "  why  tenors  invariably  are  born  without 
intelligence.  When  Providence  gives  a  man  a  great 
tenor  voice,  He  gives  him  nothing  else.  Perhaps, 
though,  he  needs  nothing  else." 

But  an  avalanche  of  trite  sayings  could  not  have 
halted  Caleb.  He  listened  with  ponderous  deference 
to  Caine ;  then  glanced  about  the  table  and  cleared  his 
voice. 

"  Speaking  of  '  needin'  nothin'  else,'  "  said  he,  "  re 
minds  me  of  Old  Man  Wetherwolks  who  used  to  live 
at  Pompton  when  I  was  a  kid.  He  used  to  get  jagged 
as  reg'lar  as  pay-day  came  'round.  Had  a  battin' 
av'rage  of  seven  nights  a  week.  Then  when  he'd 
blowed  his  last  nickel  he'd  make  us  boys  pilot  him 
home.  It  wasn't  any  cinch,  either.  For  his  wife  was 
always  waitin'  at  the  door.  An'  the  chunks  of  lan 
guage  she'd  hand  out  to  us  would  a'  fried  an  iceberg. 
One  night,  I  remember,  we  brought  the  ol'  sot  home 
worse'n  usual.  She  was  right  there  with  the  tongue- 
lashin'.  She  told  him  what  a  swine  he  was  to  spend 
all  his  fam'ly's  cash  on  booze  and  how  he  was  a  dis 
grace  to  his  town,  an'  other  nice  comfortin'  things  like 
that.  She  wound  up  by  screechin' :  '  An'  you 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND        173 

haven't  a  single  redeemin'  trait,  you  worthless  drunk 
ard  ! '  That  was  too  much  for  Wetherwolks.  He 
e  lapsed  on  the  bottom  step  and  began  to  cry. 
1  You're  right,  m'dear/  he  whines.  '  Ev'ry  word  you 
say  is  true.  I  haven't  a  single  redeemin'  trait.  But,' 
an'  here  he  throws  his  chest  out  an'  looks  stern  an' 
noble,  '  But  in  ev'ry  other  respec'  I'm  a  dam'  fine 
man!'" 

The  anecdote  somehow  did  not  "  go  "  as  well  as 
when  Conover  had  told  it  in  the  back  room  of  Kerri 
gan's  saloon.  But  if  there  was  constraint  in  its  re 
ception,  he  did  not  observe  it.  Letty,  dropping  her 
voice,  to  shut  him  out  of  the  general  talk,  inquired: 

"Where  is  Pompton?  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard 
of  it.  Did  I?  Are  our  Pompton  Avenue  and  the 
Pompton  Club  named  for  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  so,"  he  answered.  "It's  a  little 
place,  'way  up  in  the  North  Jersey  hills.  Swarmin' 
with  commuters,  by  now,  I  s'pose.  I  used  to  live 
there  for  a  while,  once,  when  I  was  learnin'  railroadin'. 
There's  a  lake,  with  the  soft  green  hills  all  closin' 
down  around  it  like  they  loved  it.  The  sun  used  to 
set  'bout  a  mile  from  our  house.  It'd  turn  the  lake 
all  gold  color.  An'  then  a  blue  sort  of  twilight  would 
roll  up  through  the  valley.  An'  the  hills  would  seem 
to  stretch  out  like  they  was  goin'  to  sleep. —  Kind  o' 
pretty  place,"  he  ended  lamely. 

"  You  are  a  poet !  "  the  girl  assured  him  with  gush 
ing  uneasiness.  "  I  had  no  idea  you  looked  at  nature 
through  such  roseate  glasses." 


174  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Neither  I  do,"  he  replied,  ashamed  of  his  un 
wonted  flight  of  fancy.  "  I  was  only  tellin'  you  how 
it  used  to  seem  to  me  when  I  was  a  half-baked  kid. 
Since  then  I've  been  so  busy  livin'  that  I've  lost  all  the 
knack  of  gettin'  enthoosed  over  measly  Ian' scapes. 
They  don't  mean  anything  to  me  now.  As  for  po'try, 
—  honest,  I  never  wrote  a  rhyme  in  my  life.  Never 
read  one  neither  when  I  could  help  it.  Guess  you  was 
stringin'  me,  weren't  you  ?  " 

Nevertheless  he  was  inwardly  flattered  at  her  praise 
and  began  to  look  on  her  with  an  even  more  favoring 
eye.  If  marriage  in  such  a  set  were  really  the  key 
stone  to  social  achievement,  he  felt  he  might  do  far 
worse  than  choose  this  comely,  quivering-nosed  dam 
sel  at  his  side. 

"  Fond  of  rabbits  ?  "  he  asked  —  as  unintentionally 
as  irrelevantly. 

"  What  an  odd  question !  "  she  cried,  her  round  eyes 
raising  incipient  distress  signals.  "  Is  it  a  joke?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  floundering,  "I  —  I  just  hap 
pened  to  say  it.  You  —  you  look  just  a  little  like 
one.  A  very  pretty  one  of  course,"  he  supplemented 
with  mammoth  gallantry. 

Her  eyes,  this  time,  hoisted  the  distress  signal  so 
perceptibly  that  Caine,  skilled  to  read  the  signs,  broke 
off  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  to  his  right-hand  neigh 
bor  and  engaged  Caleb  in  momentary  conversation. 
Letty,  in  the  interval,  stared  appealingly  about  the 
board.  But,  thanks  to  her  own  success  in  drawing 
Conover  into  tete  a  tete,  the  others  were  not,  at  the 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND         175 

instant,  noticing  either  of  them.  Thrown  upon  her 
self  for  comfort,  she  decided  the  rough  guest  had  in 
tended  his  asinine  remark  as  a  compliment.  The 
thought  did  much  to  console  her.  She  glanced,  side 
ways,  at  him,  with  a  new  interest ;  and,  Caine,  relieved, 
saw  the  *  Fair  Weather  '  standard  flying  once  more. 

But  Conover,  subtly  aware  of  her  emotion,  knew 
he  had  somehow  blundered.  He  saw  how  far  he  had 
deflected  from  his  original  plan  of  stony  self-control. 
He  knew  it  was  the  few  glasses  of  wine  he  had  drunk 
which,  while  in  no  way  befuddling  his  brain,  had 
given  his  tongue  an  undue  looseness.  A  wave  of  self- 
contempt  passed  over  him;  sharp,  unaccustomed.  A 
manservant  bent  to  fill  one  of  his  glasses.  Caleb, 
recalling  the  etiquette-book  maxim,  clapped  his 
hand  hastily  over  the  top  of  the  goblet.  The  ges 
ture  was  sudden  and  carried  with  it  an  unintended 
force.  The  wrought  stem  of  the  thin  Venetian  glass 
snapped. 

Conover,  purple  with  angry  mortification,  surveyed 
the  wreck  he  had  wrought.  Then,  pulling  himself 
together,  he  looked  about  the  board,  the  glare  behind 
his  forced  grin  challenging  any  and  every  eye  that 
might  dare  to  show  derision. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  Mr,  Standish !  "  he  called  down 
the  table  to  his  host.  "  I'll  save  the  pieces  and  send 
you  a  whole  set  like  it  to-morrow.  Where'd'you  buy 
it?" 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence  at  all,"  returned  Standish, 
the  consumption  spots  on  his  cheek  bones  burning  a 


176  THE  FIGHTER 

little  darker  red  than  usual.  He  turned  to  the  neigh 
bor  with  whom  he  had  been  talking,  and  with  his  usual 
dry  cough  took  up  the  shattered  thread  of  conversa 
tion.  But  Caleb  was  resolved  not  to  permit  his  over 
tures  at  restitution  to  be  slighted. 

"  Where'd  you  buy  it  ?  "  he  repeated,  raising  his 
voice  a  little,  "  I  want  to  know  so  I  — " 

"  It  is  of  no  importance  at  all,"  protested  Standish, 
guiltily  avoiding  his  sister-in-law's  saintly  gaze. 

«   T  » 

"  But  I  want  to  know,"  persisted  Caleb.  "  Where'd 
the  glasses  come  from  ?  " 

"  Why,"  smiled  Standish  with  a  painful  effort  at 
careless  good-nature,  "  I  believe  they're  some  we 
picked  up  in  Venice  once.  But  they  — " 

"  Well,  I'll  send  there  for  'em,  then,"  promised 
Caleb,  his  defiant  glance  once  more  sweeping  the  oval 
of  faces. 

Strangely  enough,  everyone  seemed  to  be  talking  at 
once,  and  no  one  seemed  to  be  looking  either  at  him  of 
at  Standish.  In  cool,  level,  unhurried  tones  they  were 
speaking;  these  denizens  of  an  unknown  world,  into 
whose  presence  he  fought  his  way  unasked,  unwanted. 
Their  language  was  not  his  language;  their  thoughts 
were  not  his  thoughts.  They  were  moving  on  as  if 
he  did  not  exist.  Caleb  remembered  having  read  in 
some  newspaper's  "  reprint "  column,  how  an  oyster 
calmly  glozes  over  the  grain  of  irritating  sand  that  has 
found  unwelcome  refuge  within  its  shell.  He  felt 
humiliatingly  like  the  nucleus  of  such  a  pearl.  And 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND          177 

with  the  thought,  and  the  waning  of  the  wine's  effects, 
came  wholesome  anger. 

"  I've  got  more  cash  than  the  whole  crowd  of  'em 
put  together,"  he  told  himself  fiercely. 

The  reflection  did  much  to  build  up  his  wobbling 
self-esteem.  But,  for  the  rest  of  the  meal,  he  sat 
glum.  After  an  endless,  dreary  aeon  of  time,  Mrs. 
Standish's  eye-glasses  flashed  to  the  others  of  her  sex 
the  signal  to  retire.  Everyone  rose.  The  women, 
collecting  from  the  men  beside  them  the  handkerchiefs, 
fans  and  other  feminine  accessories  that  strewed  the 
floor  under  the  table,  filed  out,  chatting  and  laughing. 
Caleb,  not  minded  to  seem  inferior  to  any  man  by 
hanging  back  and  giving  precedence  to  others,  left  the 
room  at  the  heels  of  the  last  woman. 

"  Oh,  Conover ! "  called  Caine,  as  the  Fighter's 
shoulders  vanished  through  the  doorway. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something  about  Steeloid 
Preferred,  if  you  don't  mind,'"  continued  Amzi. 

A  backward  look  told  Conover  that  the  men  were 
re-seating  themselves.  He  also  saw  the  meaning  of 
his  mentor's  summons.  At  that  moment  Caleb  came 
nearer  feeling  gratitude  toward  Caine  than  ever  he 
had  felt  it  for  any  man.  He  slouched  back,  uncon 
cernedly;  lighted  a  cigar,  shook  out  his  match  and 
dropped  into  the  vacated  chair  at  Caine's  left.  Men 
tally  he  resolved  to  tear  the  etiquette  book,  leaf  from 
leaf,  for  failing  to  warn  him  that  men  outstay  women 
in  a  dining  room.  But,  with  characteristic  calm,  he 
refused  to  be  ruffled  by  the  mistake. 


ITS  THE  FIGHTER 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  to  ask  me  ?  "  said  he. 

"  About  Steeloid,"  repeated  Caine,  "  and  about  a 
rumor  I  heard  that  the  Rogers-Whitman  Company 
is—" 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  business,"  growled  Conover,  "  I 
never  talk  shop  when  I'm  out  in  s'ciety.  It's  bad 
form.  I'd  rather  chat  just  now  'bout  music." 

He  was  himself  again;  loudly  self-assured. 

"  This  feller,  Back,  they  were  speakin'  about  at 
dinner  to-night,"  he  went  on.  "  I'm  kind  o'  rusty  on 
op'ras,  lately.  So  I've  lost  track  of  him.  Is  he  com- 
posin'  much,  nowadays  ?  " 

"  Bach  has  been  de-composing  for  a  couple  of  cen 
turies,"  answered  Caine. 

One  or  two  men  laughed.  Caleb  waxed  glum  once 
more.  Nor  could  the  combined  tact  of  Caine  and 
their  host  draw  him  again  into  speech. 

The  Fighter,  glowering  in  a  corner,  watched  the 
stream  of  musicale  guests  trickle  in  through  the  great 
double  doors.  He  was  lonely,  cross,  disappointed. 
He  could  not  define  his  own  sensations,  nor  see  how 
nor  wherein  he  had  failed.  Failure  he  had  met.  He 
knew  that.  But  the  knowledge  made  him  the  more 
determined  to  persist  in  his  assault  until  the  social 
citadel  whose  outworks  he  had  stormed,  should  be 
his.  And,  the  more  he  thought,  the  more  his  amor 
phous  idea  of  entering  that  citadel  under  a  wife's 
aegis  began  to  take  definite  shape.  He  found  his  gaze 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND 

straying  to  where  Letty  Standish  stood  laughing  and 
talking  with  a  knot  of  newcomers.  Once  his  eye 
caught  hers,  and  she  smiled.  A  polite,  deprecatory 
smile  that  strengthened  Caleb's  growing  resolution. 
After  all,  he  reflected,  one  might  do  worse  than  to 
marry. 

An  indefinable  something  swept  across  his  busily- 
planning  mind,  like  a  breath  of  May  through  a  slum. 
Even  before  he  raised  his  eyes  eagerly  to  the  door,  he 
knew  that  Desiree  Shevlin  had  come  into  the  room. 
Slender,  dainty,  infinitely  pretty,  in  her  soft  white 
dress,  the  sight  of  her  struck  athwart  Caleb's  senses; 
scattering  to  the  winds  every  thought  but  delight  at 
seeing  her, —  pride  in  the  way  she  bore  herself  among 
the  people  in  whose  presence  he  felt  so  ill  at  ease. 

And  she  had  seen  him.  Seen  him  and  noted  his 
discomfiture,  his  aloneness;  even  while  she  was  re 
sponding  to  her  hosts'  welcome.  As  soon  as  she 
could  leave  Mrs.  Hawarden's  side,  she  moved  toward 
him.  As  he  advanced  to  meet  her,  the  labored  grin  of 
festivity  wherewith  Caleb  had  sought  to  wreathe  his 
features  for  her  benefit,  gave  way  to  a  glow  of  boyish 
pleasure. 

"  Gee,  but  you're  dandy  to  look  at  in  those  clo'es, 
Dey !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There  ain't  a  one  in  the  room 
who's  a  patch  on  you." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  in  frank  joy  at  the  compli 
ment.     Then,  looking  more  keenly  into  his  face, 
murmured,  her  pretty  brows  knit : 


i8o  THE  FIGHTER 

"  You  poor,  poor  boy !  You've  been  having  a  hor 
rid,  hagorous  time!  What  have  they  been  doing  to 
you?" 

In  her  voice  was  a  vehement,  motherly  note;  as  of 
indignation  against  the  ill-treatment  accorded  a  loved, 
deficient  child.  Caleb  felt  it  and  it  was  as  balm  to  his 
scratched  sensibilities.  But  he  laughed  loudly  as  he 
made  shift  to  reply: 

"  What  a  crazy  notion !  They  treated  me  fine  an' 
I've  had  an  out  o'  sight  time.  Honest,  I  — " 

"Caleb!" 

"  They  made  me  quite  one  of  'em,"  he  bragged, 
the  more  earnestly  for  her  unbelief.  "  I  haven't  had 
such  a  good  time  in  a  couple  o'  years.  I  — " 

"  Caleb  Conover !     Look  me  in  the  eyes." 

"  It  was  rotten!  "  he  admitted  ruefully;  his  defense, 
as  ever,  breaking  to  pieces  before  the  onslaught  of  her 
sweet  imperiousness. 

"  I  knew  it ! "  she  made  answer ;  but  there  was  no 
triumph  in  her  words,  "  I  knew  how  it  would  be. 
Oh,  if  only  I  could  have  been  here  to  take  care  of  you, 
you  poor  lamb  among  social  lions!  Listen  to  me! 
You're  not  to  stir  from  my  side  all  evening.  Under 
stand?  Now  mind  me!  /am  going  to  see  that  no 
body  is  woozzey  to  you  or  lets  you  stand  all  frumped 
up  alone  in  a  corner  any  more." 

"  An'  spoil  your  own  good  time  ?  "  snorted  Caleb. 
"  Not  much !  You  chase  on  an'  get  talked  to  an'  made 
much  of,  you  little  girl!  An'  I'll  get  all  the  fun  I 
want,  watchin'  the  hit  you  make.  That's  no  He." 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND  i«i 

"  I'd  rather  be  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind,"  she 
insisted,  "  We're  chums,  aren't  we  ?  Well,  then, 
mind  me  and  do  as  I  say !  We're  going  to  stay  right 
together." 

For  some  unknown  reason,  Caleb  felt  happier  than 
he  had  for  days.  He  was  ashamed  of  the  feeling,  but 
so  strong  was  it  that  he  made  no  further  demur.  Peo 
ple  were  starting  for  the  music  room.  Piloted  by  De- 
siree,  (who  managed  to  make  it  perfectly  clear  to 
divers  and  sundry  youths,  en  route,  that  she  was  quite 
content  to  remain  with  her  present  escort)  Conover 
found  himself  at  last,  enthroned  on  a  maddeningly  un 
comfortable  camp-stool;  with  the  girl  at  his  left  side. 

The  musicale  opened  with  a  long,  intricate  piano 
solo ;  played  with  splendid  persistence  by  a  short  young 
man  with  long  hair.  The  night  was  hot.  The 
bright-lit,  overcrowded  room  was  hotter.  Caleb  had 
eaten  largely  and  had  drunk  more  than  was  his  wont. 
There  is  something  very  soporific,  to  the  Philistine 
outlander,  in  a  rendition  of  ultra-classical  music  long 
sustained.  Conover  shook  himself  impatiently  to 
scare  off  the  drowsiness  that  threatened  to  enmesh 
him.  Desiree  glanced  at  him  with  merry  encourage 
ment  as  the  tireless  pianist's  last  reluctant  note  was 
followed  by  a  ripple  of  civil  applause.  The  clapping 
and  Desiree's  look  combined  to  bring  Caleb's  drowsy 
senses  back  to  normal  wake  fulness 

"  That  chap,"  he  whispered,  "  can't  play  anywhere 
near  as  good  as  you  do.  Lord,  but  he  did  hit  that 
old  pianner  some  cruel  ones!  After  he'd  tired  it  all 


i82  THE  FIGHTER 

out,  too;  so  it  couldn't  get  back  at  him.  I  bet  them 
keys  wish  they  had  your  white  little  fingers  pettin' 
'em  instead  of  that  blacksmith's.  What's  this  next 
turn  goin'  to  be  ?  " 

"  A  tenor  solo,"  she  answered.  "  It's  the  '  Sicili- 
ana  '  from  Cavdleria  Rusticana.  Oh,  good !  It's  to 
be  accompanied  by  the  harp.  It  always  ought  to  be,  I 
think.  Don't  you?" 

"  Sure ! "  responded  Caleb,  with  an  air  of  loyal 
certainty. 

But  Desiree  was  too  much  engrossed  in  the  prelude 
to  admonish  him. 

A  few  staccato  chords;  then  began  the  song.  At 
first,  repressed  floridity  of  phrase ;  then  passion  burst 
ing  starkly  through  the  convention  of  stilted  word 
and  melody ;  rising  at  last  to  a  crescendo  where  speech 
failed  and  a  hot-gasped  "A  —  ah!"  broke  off  the 
strain. 

To  Caine,  listening  impassive  on  the  other  side  of 
Desiree  from  Conover,  the  air  conjured  up  its  picture 
as  vividly  as  though  the  scene  lay  before  his  eyes. 
Gray  dawn  in  the  gray-walled  Sicilian  village,  high  on 
the  mountain  top.  Gray  dawn  of  Easter,  above  the 
sleeping  hamlet.  One  figure  half  hidden  by  the  abut 
ting  angle  of  the  stone  houses,  the  only  human  being 
abroad.  One  figure, —  a  man,  guitar  in  hand,  singing 
that  mad  love  song  beneath  the  casement  of  the 
woman  he  had  won  —  lost  —  and  wrongfully  won 
again.  Turiddu,  the  returned  soldier,  serenading 
Lola,  fickle  wife  of  Alfio,  the  absent  teamster;  Alfio 


INTO  AN  UNKNOWN  LAND        183 

tinder  whose  knife-thrust  Turiddu  was  destined  to 
fall,  before  the  yet  unrisen  sun  should  stand  at  high 
noon  above  their  sordid  little  village  world.  And, 
contemptuous  of  his  half -foreseen  fate,  the  wooer 
was  singing  to  the  woman  whose  love  was  to  bring  him 
death. 

Mad,  undisciplined,  lawless  adoration  now  moaned, 
now  cried  aloud,  in  both  air  and  words.  What  mat 
tered  the  holy  day,  the  avenging  husband's  steel,  the 
forsaken  Santuzza,  who  was  sobbing  alone  somewhere 
in  that  huddle  of  blind  houses  ?  Love  was  king.  The 
pirate  love  who  knows  its  stake  is  death;  and,  una 
fraid,  tempts  its  fate. 

"  C'e  scrito  sangue  so  prala  tua  porta  — »  ; 
Ma  di  restarci  a  me  non  me  n'importa!" 

Then  in  a  last  burst  of  gloriously  insane  protesta 
tion: 

"Si  per  te  muojo  e  vado  in  Paradiso, 
Non  c'entro  se  non  vedo  il  tuo  bel  viso!" 

And  that  yearning,  wordless  passion-fraught  cry 
wherein  supreme  longing  rushed  beyond  the  bounds 
of  speech. 

A  rumbling  mutter  of  the  harp-strings.  And 
silence. 

"The  sublimated  howl  of  a  back- fence  tom-cat!" 
muttered  Caine,  to  himself;  the  garish  brain-picture 
fading. 


1 84  THE  FIGHTER 

A  momentary,  tense  hush  fell  over  the  audience  as 
the  final  chords  trailed  off  into  nothingness.  Then, 
before  the  utter  stillness  could  be  broken  by  the  burst 
of  ensuing  applause,  another  sound  —  hideously  dis 
tinct,  vibrant,  long-drawn, —  cut  raggedly  through  the 
breathless  quiet.  The  sound  of  a  full-lunged,  healthy 
snore. 

Caleb  Conover  was  sleeping  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MOONLIGHT   AND   MISTAKES 

The  musicale  was  over.  The  first  floor  of  the 
Standish  house  looked  as  though  a  devastating  army 
had  camped  there.  Caine,  who  had  lingered  for  a 
good-night  word  with  Letty,  glanced  over  the  empty 
music  room. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  "  if  there  is  anything  else  on 
earth  quite  so  vacant  as  the  place  a  crowd  of  guests 
have  just  deserted.  They  always  seem  to  have  car 
ried  away  with  them  whatever  local  atmosphere  there 
was  and  to  have  left  behind  a  vacuum  of  desolation." 

Letty  did  not  answer.  She  was  tired,  nerve-worn, 
relaxed,  after  the  evening's  strain.  Characteristic 
ally,  she  was  aware  of  a  mild  desire  to  make  someone 
else  uncomfortable.  Someone  who  cared  for  her 
enough  to  be  hurt.  Caine  suited  her  purpose  to  per 
fection.  Hence  the  sheath  of  grieved  silence  that  al 
ways  brought  him  hastening  to  the  anxious  seat.  The 
ruse  prevailed  now,  as  ever. 

"  You  aren't  unhappy  about  anything,  are  you, 
dear  ?  "  he  queried  solicitously. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  replied,  a  throaty  quaver  in  her 
voice. 

185 


186  THE  FIGHTER 

"  I  haven't  done  anything,  have  I  ?  "  came  the  sec 
ond  stereotyped  question  in  love's  catechism. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  returned  briefly  with  full  feminine 
power  of  making  the  answer  read,  "  Oh,  yes !  " 

"  But  what?  "  he  begged. 

"  Oh,  nothing!  "  with  the  rarified  loftiness  that  pre 
cedes  a  plunge  into  the  vale  of  tears,  "Nothing! 
Nothing  at  all." 

Nor  was  it  until  he  had  rung  all  the  traditional 
changes  on  the  query  and  had  worked  himself  into  a 
state  of  pitiable  humility  that  she  would  consent  to 
burst  forth  into  the  flood  tide  of  her  grievances. 

"  You  made  me  so  unhappy,"  she  wept.  "  It  was 
aD  your  fault.  Why  did  you  do  it?  How  could 
you?" 

"Please  —  please  tell  me!"  he  urged.  "I  don't 
understand.  How  ?  " 

"  That  disgusting  man !  That  brute  you  brought 
here!" 

"Conover?     /  didn't  bring  him.     Your  father — " 

"  He  is  your  friend,  though,"  she  insisted,  "  And 
he  frightened  me  and  he  behaved  so  abominably. 
And  everybody  laughed  when  he  went  to  sleep.  I 
could  have  died  of  mortification." 

"But  why?"  he  reasoned.  "  You  weren't  re 
sponsible  for  him.  If  anyone  had  cause  to  feel  mor 
tified,  it  was  Miss  Shevlin  who  sat  beside  him.  Yet 
she—" 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  her ! "  demanded  Letty 
with  a  flash  of  watery  dignity,  "  I  have  enough  to 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES        187 

bear  without  that.  If  she  chose  to  sit  up,  looking 
unconcerned,  and  talking  to  him  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  keeping  the  brute  wide  awake  and  in 
terested  all  the  rest  of  the  evening  —  it  was  probably 
because  she  knew  no  better.  I  suppose  her  sort  of 
people  — " 

And  here  the  gods  deprived  Amzi  Nicholas  Caine 
of  wisdom. 

"  She's  a  little  thoroughbred ! "  he  interposed 
stoutly,  "  I  never  saw  anything  better  done  in  my 
life  than  her  treatment  of  that  poor,  sheepish,  sud 
denly-awakened  chap.  It  made  one  ashamed  of  hav 
ing  wanted  to  laugh.  I  — " 

"If  you  are  going  to  take  other  people's  part 
against  me,"  sniffed  Letty,  "  you  needn't  trouble  to 
wait  here  any  longer.  Good-night.  I  am  very  tired 
and  very  miserable." 

Caine  forthwith  performed  prodigies  of  self  abase 
ment  that  little  by  little  wooed  Letty  back  from  tears 
to  temper. 

"  Just  the  same ! "  she  snapped.  "  It  was  jour 
fault.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  I'm  quite  sure  Father 
would  never  have  invited  him." 

"  I  never  heard  of  your  father's  sacrificing  his  own 
wishes  to  that  extent  for  my  sake,"  said  Caine,  un 
warily.  "  If  he  invited  Conover  out  of  compliment  to 
me,  he  didn't  think  it  important  enough  to  tell  me  so. 
Shall  I  thank  him?" 

"No,  no!"  cried  Letty  in  alarm.  "And,"  with 
recovering  self-control,  "  I  never  want  to  see  that 


188  THE  FIGHTER 

man  again  as  long  as  I  live.  I  feel  —  strangled  — 
when  he  is  near  me.  As  if  he  were  trying  to  master 
me  as  he  does  his  railroads  and  legislatures.  He 
hypnotizes  me,  with  his  mud-colored  eyes  and  that 
great  lower  jaw.  I  —  I  hate  him.  I'll  —  I'll  never 
have  to  see  him  again,  will  I?  Promise  me !  " 

Punishment  had  given  place  to  a  demand  for  cod 
dling.  Caine  rose  ardently  to  the  occasion.  Yet  she 
was  not  content. 

"Promise  me!"  she  reiterated,  "Promise  me  he'll 
never  come  here  again." 

"  He'll  have  to  pay  a  dinner  call,"  protested  Caine. 
"  Even  Conover  knows  enough  to  do  that,  I'm  afraid. 
If  he  doesn't,  Miss  Shevlin  will  tell  him." 

"  I  won't  be  at  home !  "  she  declared,  fearfully,  "  I 
• — he  can't  make  me  see  him.  I  never  want  to  see 
either  of  them  again.  Either  of  them.  Promise  me 
I  needn't.  Promise  me  you'll  thrash  him  if  he  an 
noys  me." 

She  peered  coyly  up  at  him  from  between  thin, 
soaked  lashes;  her  nose  quivering.  But,  for  once, 
loverlike  heroics  were  lacking.  For,  even  as  he 
started  to  voice  the  idle  promise,  a  picture  of  Blacarda, 
' —  smashed  and  unrecognizable,  screaming  in  agony  of 
terror  —  flashed  into  Caine's  mind.  And  the  pardon 
able  boast  stuck  midway  in  his  throat. 

"  I  think  you  are  getting  tired  of  me,"  sobbed  Letty, 
accusingly.  "If  you  are,  don't  be  afraid  to  say  so. 
I  can  bear  it.  It's  only  one  thing  more  for  me  to 
bear." 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES         189 

Mrs.  Hawarden,  at  Desiree's  whispered  plea,  had 
offered  Caleb  a  homeward  lift  in  her  carriage.  The 
Fighter  sat  in  heavy  silence  throughout  the  drive. 
When  the  carriage  stopped  at  Desiree's  door,  he  helped 
her  out  and,  with  a  grunt  of  goodnight  to  Mrs.  Ha 
warden,  followed  the  girl  up  the  walk.  Nor  did  he 
speak  as  he  unlocked  the  door  for  her. 

But  Desiree  was  in  no  haste  to  say  goodnight.  A 
waning  moon  made  the  veranda  bright.  The  air  was 
still  warm.  She  threw  her  cloak  over  a  chair  arm 
and  seated  herself  in  a  porch  rocker;  Caleb  standing 
dumbly  before  her.  She  leaned  back  comfortably  in 
the  deep  chair,  looking  up  with  inscrutable  eyes  at  his 
silhouette  that  bulked  big  in  the  moonlight.  Of  a 
sudden,  she  fell  to  laughing  softly. 

"  Oh,  you  big  baby !  "  she  cried.  "  You've  pun 
ished  yourself  all  you're  going  to.  It's  all  right. 
Now  stop  being  unhappy !  Stop!  Smile!" 

"You  aren't  sore  on  me?"  he  asked  in  lingering 
doubt. 

"Silly!     Why  should  I  be?" 

"I  —  I  made  awful  small  of  you,  the  way  I  acted," 
he  confessed. 

"If  I  can  stand  it,  you  ought  to,"  she  retorted. 
"  Now  be  friends  and  stop  sulking." 

"  You're  sure  you  ain't  mad,"  he  queried,  stiil  in 
doubt. 

"  Mad  ?     Not  one  smidgin !  —  I  — " 

"  Oh,  Dey,"  he  interrupted,  all  contrition.  "  It  was 
rotten  of  me!  To  think  of  my  snorin'  out  loud  an' 


190  THE  FIGHTER 

makin'  everybody  rubber  at  you  while  they  gave  me 
the  laugh!  An'  you  never  batted  an  eye!  You  sat 
there  lookin'  so  friendly  an'  cool,  an'  talkin'  to  me 
like  nothin'  had  happened !  I  could  a'  knelt  down  and 
kissed  both  your  feet.  I  kep'  a'  thinkin'  all  evenin' 
that  you'd  most  likely  take  it  out  on  me  when  we  was 
alone.  It'd  a'  been  only  hooman  nature  if  you  had. 
That's  why  I  came  here  now.  To  take  my  medicine. 
An'  you  ain't  even  disgusted  with  me.  You  aint  are 
you?  "  he  added  in  hasty  need  for  reassurance. 

"  Would  you  have  been  *  disgusted '  with  w^/'she 
asked,  "if  it  had  been  I  instead  of  you  that — ?  " 

"  You  know  blame  well  I  wouldn't !  "  he  declared, 
"  An'  I'd  a'licked  ev'ry  man  in  the  place  that  dared  to 
laugh  or  look  sneerin'.  I'd  a' — " 

"  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  do,"  said  Desiree. 
"  If  I  was  cross  inside,  it  wasn't  at  you,  dear  boy." 

"  I'll  win  out  on  'em  yet,"  growled  Conover.  "  I 
made  a  mistake.  An  '  I'm  ashamed  of  it.  The  only 
feller  who's  never  ashamed  of  his  mistakes  is  a 
loonatic.  And  I  ain't  a  loonatic,  by  a  long  shot.  I'm 
ashamed.  But  I'll  win." 

"  Listen  to  me ! "  she  demanded,  "If  there  was  a 
big,  lovable,  splendid  child  you  knew  and  he  insisted 
on  going  to  play  with  children  who  hadn't  the  sense 
to  see  how  fine  he  was  and  what  good  company  he 
could  be,  it  wouldn't  make  you  angry  at  him,  would  it, 
if  he  got  laughed  at  for  not  understanding  their  stiff, 
set  ways?  Of  course  not.  But  when  he'd  had  his 
lessoM  and  had  burned  his  poor  stubby  fingers, 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES         191 

wouldn't  it  make  you  just  the  least  little  bit  impatient 
if  he  began  right  away  to  plan  to  try  his  luck  with 
those  same  horrid  children  again?  Wouldn't  you  be 
be  tempted  to  spank  him  or — ?" 

"  You're  dead  right,  little  girl,"  he  admitted,  "  An' 
you're  a  lot  cleverer  than  I  am.  I  — " 

"  Then  you  will  give  it  up  ?  "  she  urged. 

"I  can't,  Dey!  Honest,  I  can't.  I  couldn't  look 
myself  in  the  face  again  if  I  let  those  gold-shirters 
beat  me  out.  You  see  how  it  is,  don't  you?  I'm  in 
to  win.  If  I  ever  was  to  give  up  a  fight,  I  could  never 
win  another.  It'd  take  the  '  win '  out  of  me,  for 
keeps.  Please  don't  make  me  do  it,  Dey !  " 

"  All  right ! "  she  sighed,  in  comic  despair,  "  It's 
only  for  your  own  sake  and  because  I  care  for  you." 

"If  it's  goin'  to  make  you  unhappy  or  ashamed  of 
me,  I'll  give  it  up,"  he  said  with  slow  resignation. 

"  No,"  she  forbade.  "  You  needn't  feel  that  way 
about  it.  It  doesn't  make  me  unhappy,  except  on  your 
account.  And  I  couldn't  be  '  ashamed '  of  you  if  I 
tried  all  day.  You  know  I  couldn't." 

"  You're  the  dandiest,  littlest,  prettiest  girl  there 
is ! "  he  said  gratefully,  "  An'  those  big  eyes  of  yours 
kind  of  make  me  feel  like  I  was  in  church.  Now  I'll 
chase  home  an'  give  you  a  chance  to  do  some  sleepin'. 
Say — "  as  he  started  to  go,  "What  do  you  think  of 
Miss  Standish?" 

"Why,"  she  answered,  perplexed,  "  I  never  thought 
much  about  her.  She's  very  nice;  —  and  pretty,  too; 
isn't  she?" 


192  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Looks  a  little  like  a  rabbit,  don't  she  ?  "  he  ventured. 

The  girl's  quick  laugh  flashed  out  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  together. 

"  Beautiful !  "  she  cried.  "How  did  you  ever  think 
of  it?" 

"Struck  me  the  first  time  I  saw  her,"  he  replied, 
flattered,  "  I  told  her  about  it  to-night  at  dinner." 

"Caleb!     You  didn't!" 

"  Honest,  I  did !  "  he  reiterated     "  I  — " 

"  What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  she  didn't  seem  to  mind.  Got  sort  o'  red,  an' 
grinned.  I  guess  she  liked  it.  Her'n  me  didn't  get 
on  so  bad  together,  takin'  all  into  account.  I  guess 
we'll  pull  together  first  rate  when  we're  better 
acquainted." 

"  You  seem  pretty  certain  of  being  *  better  ac 
quainted  '  ",  she  mocked;  albeit  there  was  a  little  tug 
at  her  heart. 

"  I  am,"  he  answered,  coolly,  "  The  fact  is,  Dey, 
I'm  thinkin'  of  makin'  it  a  case  of  marry." 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer.  The  footfalls  of 
a  pedestrian  sounded  rhythmically  distinct  in  the  silence 
that  fell  between  the  man  and  the  girl.  Then  Desiree 
observed,  with  a  slight  restraint  that  sat  strangely 
upon  her :  — 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  a  very  nice  joke." 

"  'Tisn't  a  joke  at  all,"  Caleb  assured  her,  "  I  mean 
it.  I'd  a'  talked  it  over  with  you  before,  only  the  idee 
never  came  clear  to  me  till  tonight.  Here's  how  it 
is—" 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES         193 

"  You  —  you  care  for  her  ?  "  asked  Desiree  very 
quietly.  Caleb,  full  as  he  was  of  his  own  aspirations, 
noticed  how  dull  and  lifeless  her  voice  had  all  at  once 
grown. 

"  You're  tired  out !  "  he  cried,  all  remorse,  "Here 
I  keep  you  up,  listenin'  to  my  fool  talk  when  you 
ought  to  be  sound  asleep!  Nice  sort  of  guardian  I 
am !  I'm  goin' — " 

"  No.  Wait! "  she  ordered,  withi  a  pitiful  shadow 
of  her  wonted  dainty  imperiousness,  "  I'm  riot  tired. 
Tell  me.  Are  you  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"In  love  with  her?"  scoffed  Caleb.  "With  that 
little  rabbit- faced  bunch  of  silliness?  Not  me!  But 
she  comes  of  about  the  biggest  fam'ly  here.  She's 
pop'lar  ev'ry where.  If  I  was  to  marry  her,  I'd  get 
with  the  best  crowd  in  Granite.  My  place'd  be  as 
sure  as  yours'll  be  when  you  marry  that  gold-shirt 
chap  —  whoever  he  turns  out  to  be  —  that  we  was 
talkin'  about  the  other  day.  I  was  speakin'  of  the 
idee  to  Caine,  only  tonight,  an'  he  says — " 

"Oh!" 

The  furious  monosyllable  snapped  through  his  ram 
bling  talk  like  a  pistol  shot.  Caleb  paused  in  amaze. 
The  girl  had  risen.  Her  tiny  fists  were  clinched,  her 
face  was  hard  as  a  statue's.  The  moonlight  gave  back 
cold  fire  from  her  great  eyes. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  panted,  "How  dare  you! 
You  speak  of  marrying  Letty  Standish  as  you  would 
speak  of  buying  a  horse!  You  even  talk  it  over  with 
the  man  she  has  promised  to  marry!  But  I  suppose 


194  THE  FIGHTER 

you  chuckled  to  yourself  over  your  barroom  cunning 
in  getting  an  opinion  from  him  without  letting  him 
know  it  was  his  sweetheart  you  planned  to  steal.  You 
sneer  at  her  as  a  '  rabbit-faced  little  bunch  of  silliness  ' 
and  yet  you  speak  in  the  same  breath  of  making  her 
your  wife.  Do  you  realize  you  are  not  only  insulting 
her  by  such  a  thought,  but  you  are  insulting  me  by 
speaking  so  in  my  presence  ?  " 

"Dey! "  gasped  the  bewildered  man,  "You  must  be 
crazy,  child !  I  never  saw  you  like  — " 

"  Be  still !  "  she  commanded,  her  silver  voice  ring 
ing  harsh,  "I  forbid  you  to  speak  to  me,  now  or  any 
time.  A  man  who  can  plan  what  you  are  planning, 
and  who  can  boast  of  it,  isn't  fit  to  speak  to  any  woman. 
You  went  to  that  house  as  a  guest  —  and  you  asked 
mens'  opinions  in  the  smoking  room — " 

"  It  was  the  dressin'  room,  Dey,"  he  pleaded,  "  An' 
it  was  only  me  an'  Caine  — " 

"  You  ask  mens'  opinion,"  blazed  on  Desiree,  un 
heeding,  "  as  to  whether  you  are  likely  to  gain  any 
thing  in  a  social  way  by  wrecking  an  innocent  girl's 
life.  You  sit  by  her  at  dinner  —  at  her  own  father's 
table  —  and  plan  in  smug  complacency  how  to  sep 
arate  her  from  a  man  she  really  loves, —  and  to  com 
pel  her  to  marry  you.  Why,  you  aren't  fit  to  marry 
her  chambermaid.  There  isn't  a  groom  in  her  stable 
that  hasn't  higher,  holier  ideals.  Now  go!  This  is 
the  last  time  I  want  to  see  you  as  long  as  I  live  \  " 

A  swirl  of  soft  skirts,  the  sharp  slam  of  a  door, 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MISTAKES         195 

and  Caleb  Conover,  aghast,  wordless  with  dismay 
stood  alone  on  the  little  moon-lit  porch. 

For  a  full  minute  he  stood  there,  dumbfounded. 
Then,  from  somewhere  in  the  darkness  beyond  the 
closed  door,  came  faintly  the  sound  of  sobbing. 
Rending,  heartbroken  sobs  that  brought  a  lump  to  his 
own  throat. 

"Dey!"  he  called,   frantically  miserable,  "Dey!" 

He  tried  the  locked  door,  and  rapped 'as  loudly  as 
he  dared  upon  its  panels.  The  sobbing  died  away. 
For  an  hour  Conover  waited;  alternately  whispering 
the  girl's  name  and  tapping  appealingly  for  admittance. 
But  the  house  remained  silent.  At  length  with  a 
despairing  growl  he  turned  away. 

"  Now  what  in  blazes  could  a'  made  her  act  like 
that?"  he  pondered,  half-aloud.  "Gee,  but  I'd 
rather  be  horsewhipped  than  make  that  kid  cry !  An' 
I  s'pose,"  he  went  on  as  he  passed  out  of  the  gate,  "  I 
s'pose  'bout  this  time  Letty  Standish  an'  Caine  are 
sayin'  goodnight,  all  slushly  like,  an'  grinnin'  at  each 
other,  like  a  couple  of  measly  love-birds." 

He  looked  back  once  more  at  the  dark  house ;  sighed 
noisily,  and  started  homeward.  A  passing  policeman 
recognized  him ;  and,  in  deference  to  the  Fighter's  fast- 
growing  political  power,  so  far  unbent  as  to  say : 

"  Good  evenin',  Mr.  Conover.  Fine  night,  ain't  it  ? 
Are  —  ?" 

"  Oh,  go  to  hell!  "  snarled  Caleb. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CALEB    CONOVER   TAKES   AN   AFTERNOON    OFF 

The  Fighter  made  life  a  burden,  next  day,  for  the 
office  staff  of  the  C.  G.  &  X.  An  electric  aura  of  un 
easiness  pervaded  the  big  station  —  the  indefinable, 
wordless  something  that  gives  warning  to  the  most 
remote  denizens  of  every  office  when  the  "  boss  "  is 
out  of  temper. 

Yet  Caleb,  as  it  happened,  was  not  out  of  temper. 
He  was  merely  unhappy.  The  effect,  to  casual  observ 
ers,  was  the  same  as  on  the  not  very  rare  days  of  his 
rages.  But,  instead  of  storming  up  and  down  his  office 
as  on  the  latter  occasions,  Caleb  merely  sulked  in  his 
desk  chair,  chewed  countless  cigars,  and  roused  himself 
every  few  minutes  to  make  toil  a  horror  for  such  luck- 
lless  subordinates  as  just  then  chanced  to  impress 
their  existence  on  his  mind.  Hence  the  President's 
private  office  was  shunned  like  a  pest-house  by  every 
one  who  could  avoid  going  thither. 

The  office  boy,  official  martyr  of  the  day,  shook 
visibly  as  he  sidled  into  the  room,  about  three  that 
afternoon,  and  laid  on  his  chief's  desk  a  sealed,  un 
stamped  envelope.  Conover's  scowl  vanished  as  he 
noted  the  handwriting.  The  office  boy  breathed 
deeper  and  his  knees  grew  firm. 

196 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  197 

"Any  answer?"  asked  Conover;  and  for  the  first 
time  since  his  arrival  his  voice  sounded  scarcely  more 
menacing  than  that  of  a  sick  bear. 

"  No,  sir ! "  piped  the  youth  with  a  propitiatory 
grin.  "  I  ast  the  mes'nger  an'  he  said  — " 

"  Clear  out !"  mumbled  Caleb,  his  eyes  and  mind 
fixed  on  the  sheet  he  had  clumsily  withdrawn  from 
the  envelope. 

The  boy  departed;  swaggering  into  the  main  office 
with  all  the  conscious  heroism  of  a  lion-tamer.  The 
door,  wind-caught,  swung  shut  behind  him  with  a  slam 
that  turned  swagger  into  helpless  panic.  But  no 
dreaded  voice  howled  a  reprimand  through  the  panels. 
Caleb  Conover  was  reading  and  re-reading  a  few 
scribbled  lines  in  exaggeratedly  large  writing.  The 
Fighter's  face  softened  as  he  read.  Then,  glancing 
about  in  shame-faced  caution,  he  hastily  lifted  the 
note ;  brushed  it  across  his  lips  with  a  furtive,  yet  care 
less  mien ;  as  though  the  gesture  might  have  been  em 
ployed  to  cover  a  yawn.  Contemptuous  of  the  first 
covert  loverly  deed  of  his  career,  he  cleared  his  throat 
and  for  the  sixth  time  read  the  scrawled  words.  Half 
audibly,  he  perused  them ;  smiling  to  himself. 

"Please,  I'm  good  now.  I  don't  think  I'm  EVER 
going  to  be  bad  again,  t  Wouldn't  it  be  fine  if  you 
should  come  and  take  me  for  a  walk  this  afternoon? 
D.  S." 

"  Isn't  she  the  dandiest  ever?  "  Caleb  asked  himself 
gleefully  as  he  straightened  his  tie  before  the  office 


198  THE  FIGHTER 

mirror  and  jammed  his  felt  hat  down  over  his  fore 
head,  "Why  can't  the  Letty  girl  be  like  her?  Then 
there'd  be  some  pleasure  in  gettin'  married.  Hope 
she  and  Dey'll  be  friends.  If  they  ain't — " 

He  strode  through  the  outer  office,  looking  so  hu 
man  that  his  expression,  combined  with  the  far  more 
important  fact  that  he  was  evidently  departing  for  the 
day,  put  the  whole  staff  into  the  utmost  good  humor 
for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

It  was  a  very  natural,  self -controlled  Desiree  who 
met  Conover  on  the  porch  of  the  Shevlin  cottage. 
If  hers  had  been  the  muffled  sobs  that  had  sent  him 
home  with  a  lump  in  his  throat  —  if  she  had  lain  wide- 
eyed,  tortured,  till  broad  daylight  —  there  was  no  hint 
of  such  excess  in  her  flower  face  nor  in  the  girlish 
vigor  of  her  pose.  Conover,  doubtful  as  to  how  he 
might  best  refer  to  the  quarrel  of  the  previous  night, 
for  once  did  an  absolutely  wise  and  tactful  thing.  He 
made  no  mention  whatever  of  the  affair. 

"  It  was  such  a  gorgeous  day,"  Desiree  was  saying, 
"  that  I  felt  I  ought  to  let  you  know  what  beautiful 
weather  it  was.  You'd  never  have  thought  to  look, 
for  yourself.  You  know  you  wouldn't.  Now  take 
me  somewhere.  Anywhere,  so  long  as  it's  far  enough. 
And  I  want  to  walk ;  not  drive.  Where  are  we  going? 
It's  got  to  be  somewhere  outside  of  this  squiffy,  hot  old 
town.  Out  where  there's  a  whole  sky-ful  of  air." 

"  How'd  you  like  to  walk  out  to  the  Arareek?  "  he 
suggested,  "  We  can  sit  on  the  stoop  there  and  drink 
seltzer  lem'nade  an'  watch  the  paretics  chase  gutta 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  199 

percha  pills  over  the  golf  links.  Would  you  care 
'about  doin'  that  ?  There's  a  big  view  there  for  folks 
that  cares  for  that  sort  of  rot." 

She  assented  gaily  and  they  set  off,  walking  close  to 
gether  and  chattering  like  a  couple  of  schoolgirls  on  a 
holiday.  Caleb  felt  oddly  young  and  buoyant.  The 
girl  had  ever  the  power  of  imparting  to  him,  when 
they  were  alone  together,  something  of  her  own  youth 
and  gaiety.  Today,  the  spell  worked  with  double 
force,  because  of  last  night's  scene.  It  would  have 
needed  a  far  cleverer  onlooker  than  Conover  to  detect 
any  artificiality  in  Desiree's  high  spirits.  She  bullied 
him,  petted  him,  cajoled  and  instructed  him  by  turns 
as  was  her  wont,  until  they  had  entered  the  Arareek 
grounds.  Then  of  a  sudden  she  fell  silent. 

The  deep  clubhouse  veranda  was  rilled  with  knots 
of  men  and  women.  Among  the  idling  groups,  the 
girl  had  recognized  Letty  Standish  and  Caine.  Jack 
Hawarden,  who  was  sitting  with  the  couple,  ran  down 
the  steps  to  welcome  the  newcomers. 

"  There  are  two  extra  chairs  at  our  table,"  he  said 
eagerly,  "  And  I  believe  they're  the  only  two  left  on 
the  whole  veranda.  I  wondered  why  no  one  took 
them.  Now  I  see  it  was  providential." 

Caleb  hesitated,  glancing  in  doubt  at  Desiree.  The 
girl,  a  little  to  his  surprise,  assented  with  perfect 
willingness  to  Jack's  suggestion,  and  led  the  way 
between  several  bevies  of  frankly  admiring  men  and 
openly  curious  women,  toward  the  table  where  Caine 
and  Letty  were  seated.  Miss  Standish's  cheeks  were 


200  THE  FIGHTER 

flushed  as  she  noted  their  approach.  Nor  did  her 
gentle  face  wear  quite  its  best  expression.  But  Caine, 
masculinely  obtuse,  was  very  evidently  glad  to  see 
them.  He  signalled  a  waiter  as  Caleb  and  Desiree 
seated  themselves. 

"  When  Providence  ordained  hot  days  like  this," 
said  Caine  oracularly,  "  He  mercifully  devised  seltzer 
lemonades  to  go  with  them.  Would  you  rather  have 
a  Scotch-and-soda,  Conover  ?  " 

"  No  thanks,"  demurred  the  Fighter.  "  No  use 
in  spoilin'  two  perfec'ly  good  things  like  booze  an' 
water  by  fizzin'  'em  up  together." 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  Caine  tritely,  "Mixing  whiskey 
with  water  is  like  merging  love  into  matrimony. 
It—" 

Letty  giggled  appreciation.  She  had  a  marvellous 
ear  for  humor,  and  could  almost  always  tell  by  a 
speaker's  tone  when  he  had  said  anything  funny.  It 
was  a  natural  gift  many  girls  envied  her.  In  the  midst 
of  the  laugh  she  remembered  Desiree's  presence  and 
fell  back  on  her  defenses  of  gentle  reserve. 

Caine  was  hailed  from  another  table  and  went 
across  to  reply  to  some  question.  Jack,  too,  was  for 
the  moment,  leaning  over  to  speak  with  someone  on  the 
lawn  below.  Caleb,  left  alone  between  Desiree  and 
Letty,  racked  his  brain  for  something  to  say.  For 
once,  Desiree  did  not  help  him.  She  was  gazing  out 
with  dreamy  joy  at  the  beautiful  grounds;  her  eyes 
resting  longest  on  the  stately  avenue  of  trees  that 
wound  up  to  the  house.  Thus  it  devolved  upon  Letty 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  201 

to   save   the   conversational   ship    from   utter   wreck. 

"  I  hardly  thought  to  see  you  here,  Miss  Shevlin," 
she  observed  with  a  graciousness  that  did  not  how 
ever  leave  the  second  personal  pronoun  quite  un 
accented. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Desiree,  simply.  "  I  hear  some 
really  very  nice  people  come  here,  —  sometimes." 

"I  —  I  meant  I  feared  you  would  hardly  feel  at 
home,"  persisted  Letty,  walking  round-eyed  toward 
destruction. 

"  Oh,  I  don't,"  Desiree  assured  her,  with  a  childlike 
smile.  "  At  home  I  never  see  men  sit  with  their  feet 
on  a  veranda  rail.  And  I  never  see  women  drinking 
whisky  there,  either,"  she  added  with  a  glance  toward 
a  nearby  table  whither  a  tray  of  high-balls  had  just 
been  borne. 

"  I  wonder  you  came,  then,"  sputtered  Letty,  with 
a  despairing  effort  at  cold  reproof. 

"  One  goes  anywhere  nowadays,"  replied  Desiree. 
"  And  besides,"  she  sighed  raptly,  "I  love  the  country. 
Everything  about  it  always  has  a  charm  for  me. 
From  trees  like  those  splendid  old  oaks,  down  to  — " 
her  eyes  swept  the  scene  for  an  antithesis;  accidently 
resting  for  the  remotest  instant  on  Letty's  profile  as 
she  finished,  "  down  to  the  funny  little  rabbits  with 
their  ridiculous  round  bodies  and  bulging,  scared 
eyes." 

"  Gee !  "  groaned  Caleb  to  himself,  glancing  help 
lessly  from  one  girl  to  the  other,  "  It  must  be  hell  to  be 
a  Mormon ! " 


202  THE  FIGHTER 

For  a  moment,  Letty  pondered  on  Desiree's  harm 
less  speech. 

Then,  all  at  once,  a  queer,  gurgling  little  sound  rum 
bled  far  down  in  her  throat  and  she  slowly  grew  pink. 
Her  nose  quivered  a  mute  appeal  to  all  mankind. 
Caine  mercifully  returned  at  this  juncture.  All  un 
conscious  of  the  smouldering  fires,  he  proceeded,  man 
like,  to  stir  up  the  coals. 

'  You  have  made  one  more  of  an  endless  line  of 
conquests,  Miss  Shevlin,"  he  announced,  "  General 
Greer, — Miss  Standish's  uncle,  you  know, —  called  me 
over  to  his  table  expressly  to  ask  who  you  were;  and 
to  demand,  in  lurid  diction,  why  he  had  never  met 
you  before.  He  is  coming  over  here  in  a  moment,  if 
you'll  permit,  to  be  introduced  to  you.  You  don't 
mind?" 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  said  Desiree  in  sweet 
effusion,  "  Miss  Standish  knows  how  glad  I  am  to 
meet  anyone  connected  with  her.  By  the  way,  she 
and  I  have  been  raving  over  the  joys  of  country  life. 
We—" 

Letty  was  saved  by  the  advent  of  an  elderly  man, 
apoplectic  of  mien,  stumpy  of  gait,  who  hobbled  across 
to  their  table  and  greeted  her  with  a  bluff  manner  he 
had  spent  many  busy  years  in  mastering.  Then,  with 
out  waiting  for  her  reply,  he  nodded  to  Jack  and 
looked  expectantly  toward  Caine.  The  latter  rose  to 
the  occasion. 

"Miss  Shevlin,"  he  said,  trying  to  make  the  act 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  203, 

seem  bred  of  an  unexpected  meeting,  "  May  I  present 
General  Greer  ?  " 

The  General  bowed  low;  his  best  old-world  air  and 
his  corpulence  battling  doughtily  for  supremacy  in  the 
salutation.  He  was  about  to  follow  up  the  bow  with 
some  remarks  of  a  fatherly  yet  admiring  nature,  when 
Caine,  with  malice  aforethought,  broke  in: 

"  And,  General,  may  I  introduce  Mr.  Caleb  Con- 
over?" 

The  old  man's  honeyed  words  collided  with  a  snort 
that  sprang  unbidden  from  his  throat;  resulting  in  a 
sound  that  was  neither  old-world  or  fatherly. 

"  Conover,  eh?"  he  rapped  out.  "Heard  of  you, 
sir!  Heard  of  you! —  Too  often,  in  fact.  You're 
the  fellow  that's  always  buying  up  our  legislators, 
aren't  you  ?  Why  do  you  do  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  they're  for  sale,"  said  Caleb,  unruffled. 
"  I  guess  that's  'bout  the  only  reason  I'm  able  to." 

"  You  mean  to  accuse  the  men  who  represent  our 
interests  at  the  Capital, —  to  accuse  them  of  being 
willing,  untempted,  to  sell  their  vote  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,"  answered  Caleb 
with  a  tolerant  grin.  "  They  ain't  all  waitin'  for 
chances  to  sell  their  vote.  Some  of  'em  prefers  to 
rent  it  out  by  the  year." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  believe  such  a  libel  on  our 
statesmen?"  declaimed  Greer.  "On  the  men  we — " 

"  I'm  not  exactly  coaxin'  you  to  believe  anything/' 
replied  Caleb,  pleasantly,  "An*  I  ain't  liable  to  lay 


204  THE  FIGHTER 

wake  nights  moanin'  because  you  doubt  it.  If  the 
people  didn't  want  to  be  run  by  a  lobby,  they  wouldn't 
be.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"  I  didn't  come  to  discuss  ethics  with  a  man  of  your 
stamp,"  sneered  the  General.  "  But  I  can  tell  you 
you  are  wrong  —  wrong,  sir  —  in  thinking  the  people 
will  always  stand  such  conditions  as  you  and  your 
kind  are  thrusting  upon  them.  Only  yesterday  one  of 
my  clients  was  telling  me  that  if  he  could  not  curb 
your  legislative  influence  by  fair  means  he  would  — " 

"  Come  to  you  for  help?  "  finished  Caleb  blandly. 

General  Greer  stared  at  him  speechless,  apoplectic. 
Letty,  who,  despite  years  of  sharp  contrary  experi 
ence,  still  clung  to  the  fond  delusion  that  she  was  the 
spoiled-child-niece  of  fiction  who  could  twist  an  other 
wise  crotchety  uncle  about  her  finger,  now  intervened 
with  one  of  her  inspired  blunders.  The  General's 
rumbling  voice  had  drawn  attention  to  their  table  and 
Miss  Standish  conceived  a  plan  of  pouring  oil  on  the 
thundrous  waters. 

"Why,  Uncle  Guy!"  she  pouted  prettily,  "You'll 
make  Mr.  Conover  think  you're  in  earnest  in  the 
dreadful  things  you  are  saying  to  him!  It's  just  dear 
Uncle  Guy's  bluff  way,  Mr.  Conover,  that  he  picked 
up  when  he  was  commanding  soldiers  in  the  army. 
He's  really  a  darling  old  lamb,  if  only — " 

After  one  long,  dumb  glare  of  annihilation  at  his 
self-appointed  spoiled-child-niece,  the  darling  old  lamb 
stumped  away,  bleating  blasphemously. 

"  I  wonder,"  conjectured  Desiree,  looking  up  from 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  205 

her  tall  glass,  "  why  seltzer  lemonades  make  such 
squizzy  sounds  through  the  straw  when  the  glass  is 
almost  empty." 

"  If  that's  a  hint, — "  observed  Caine,  glancing 
about  for  a  waiter. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  Only  a  scientific  comment. 
Oh,  it  is  good  to  be  in  the  country  a  day  like  this." 

"  I'll  be  in  the  country  for  the  summer,  this  time 
next  month,"  said  Jack  Hawarden,  "  Mother's  taken 
the  same  cottage  at  the  Antlers  we  had  last  year.  It 
will  be  nice  to  get  back  to  the  old  Adirondacks  again." 

"The  Adirondacks?"  exclaimed  Desiree.  "Oh, 
take  me  along.  I've  always  wanted  to  go  there !  " 

Letty,  pained  at  a  suggestion  so  palpably  immod 
est,  looked  in  frightened  appeal  to  Caine.  But  Amzi 
was  once  more  talking  to  people  at  the  next  table. 
So  Miss  Standish  drew  around  her  an  aloofness  that 
lifted  her  high  above  any  ribaldry  that  might  be 
bandied  about  her. 

"You've  never  been?"  asked  Jack  in  surprise, 
"  You've  missed  a  lot.  There's  no  other  region  just 
like  the  Adirondacks.  It  rains  about  a  third  of  the 
time,  as  a  rule.  But  when  it's  clear  you  forget  it  can 
ever  be  anything  else.  The  breath  goes  down  a  mile 
deeper  into  your  lungs  than  it  can  in  any  other  part  of 
the  world;  and  you  never  get  tired.  A  sort  of  per 
petual  ozone  jag.  Almost  any  place  there  is  worth 
going  to.  We  generally  hang  out  at  the  Antlers, — 
Mother  and  I.  Up  on  Raquette  Lake,  you  know. 
It's  different  from  other  places.  It's  run  by 


206  THE  FIGHTER 

Charlie  Bennett,  a  giant  of  a  man  as  broad  as  Mr. 
Conover  and  half  a  foot  taller.  He  and  Father  are 
old  chums  from  the  time  when  it  took  three  days  to 
get  into  the  wilderness  and  when  you  could  shoot 
Adirondack  bear  for  breakfast  any  morning.  Ben 
nett  used  to  be  Father's  guide  in  those  days.  Now,  I 
suppose  he  could  buy  and  sell  Dad  half  a  dozen  times 
over." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  there  —  or  anywhere  at  all  in 
the  Adirondacks,"  sighed  Desiree  wistfully.  "  I  read 
once  — " 

Caleb  noted  the  longing  inflection  and  made  quick 
mental  memorandum  of  it. 

"  How  big's  your  cottage,  Jack?  "  he  asked  the  boy. 

"  Four  rooms.  We  get  our  meals  at  the  hotel. 
Why?" 

"  Oh,  nothin' ! "  Continuing  with  elephantine 
humor,  "  Though  maybe  I  might  drop  in  on  you  some 
time.  How  many  of  you  goin'  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  Father  can  only  stay  a  month  this  year.  After 
that  there  will  be  only  Mother  and  I.  Did  you  really 
think  of  joining  us?  We'd  be  ever  so  glad.  There's 
an  extra  room." 

"  Much  obliged.  I've  never  took  a  vacation  yet,  an' 
I  guess  I'm  a  little  bit  too  old  to  begin.  I  don't 
b'lieve  in  vacations.  Neither  would  you  if  you  could 
see  how  my  clerks  look  when  they  get  back  from  'em. 
The  first  day  back,  you'd  think  they  was  beginnin'  a 
life  sentence  in  prison.  It  costs  'em  six  months'  sav 
in's  to  grow  a  bunch  of  callous  spots  on  their  hands 


AN  AFTERNOON  OFF  207 

an'  tan  on  their  faces  that  they  could  a'  got  free  of 
charge,  workin'  in  my  freight  yards.  When  d'you 
expect  to  go  to  the  country,  Miss  Standish?"  he 
broke  off,  remembering  belatedly  his  new-chosen  role 
of  attentive  swain,  and  turning  unexpectedly  upon 
Letty  before  she  had  an  opportunity  to  resume  the 
aloofness  which  she  had  just  discarded  as  unnecessary. 

"I  —  I  don't  quite  know  yet,"  she  made  reply,  un 
reasonably  scared  by  his  sudden  glance,  "  We  shall 
probably  stay  in  town  rather  late  this  year." 

"  Good !  "  approved  Caleb.  "  I  hope  we'll  see  a  lot 
of  each  other." 

And,  looking  into  his  light,  masterful  eyes,  the  girl 
knew  all  at  once  that  she  would  not  have  the  wit  nor 
the  force  to  avoid  him.  The  knowledge  turned  her 
sick.  Her  round,  helpless  gaze  shifted  involuntarily 
to  Desiree,  as  the  nearest  woman  to  her.  And,  under 
the  genuine  fright  behind  that  appeal,  the  steel  glint 
that  had  of  a  sudden  hardened  Desiree's  big  eyes, 
softened  unaccountably.  A  quick  sentence  that  had 
risen  to  her  lips  died  unborn. 

For  a  moment,  before  convention  could  lower  the 
veil,  the  two  women  read  each  other  to  the  very  soul. 
At  what  the  brief  glance  told  her,  Letty  drew  her 
breath  with  a  sharp  intake  that  made  Conover  glance 
at  her  inquiringly.  To  cover  her  confusion,  Miss 
Standish  plunged  into  speech  on  the  first  subject  that 
crossed  her  mind. 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  mind  Uncle  Guy's  rudeness, 
Mr.  Conover,"  she  began,  "  He  really  doesn't  mean 
half  the  cross  things  he  says.  He  suffers  so  dread- 


208  THE  FIGHTER 

fully  from  dyspepsia  and  —  and  there  are  sometimes 
family  troubles,  too,  that  — " 

"  I  know,"  assented  Caleb,  "  I've  heard.  Married 
a  wife  that  was  too  rich  for  him.  She  don't  always 
agree  with  him,  I  hear,  an'  I  s'pose  it  gives  him  mental 
indigestion.  No  offence.  I  forgot  they're  rel'tives  of 
yours." 

"  I'm  sorry,  just  the  same,  that  he  spoke  so  threat 
eningly  to  you,"  went  on  Letty. 

She  found  it  so  easy  to  talk  to  him  now.  A  weight 
seemed  off  her  heart. 

"  Threats  don't  keep  me  guessin'  very  much,"  Con- 
over  reassured  her,  delighted  at  her  new  ease  of  bear 
ing  toward  him,  "  No  one's  goin'  to  do  a  rich  man 
any  real  harm  or  hold  grouches  against  him.  To  him 
that  hath,  it  shall  be  forgiven.  That's  in  the  Bible, 
ain't  it?  Or  somethin'  like  it.  The  trouble  with  men 
like  your  uncle  is  that  they  don't  see  any  farther 
ahead  than  twenty  years  ago.  Business  an'  pol'tics 
have  changed  a  lot  since  then.  But  the  old  crowd 
don't  see  it.  They're  like  a  feller  that  rows  a  boat. 
They  move  ahead  because  the  boat  carries  'em  ahead. 
But  they're  always  facin'  astern." 

He  felt  he  was  talking  amazingly  well.  He  was 
almost  annoyed  when  Desiree,  having  sat  in  troubled 
silence  for  some  minutes,  rose  abruptly  and  proposed 
that  they  should  go. 

Letty  Standish,  watching  them  depart,  was  saying 
over  and  over  to  herself  in  a  rapturous  sing-song: 

"  She  won't  let  him  make  love  to  me.  She  won't ! 
She  won't!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

CALEB    CONOVER   LIES 

One  morning,  a  week  or  so  later,  Caine  strolled  into 
Conover's  private  office.  Under  the  young  newspaper 
owner's  customary  jauntiness  was  a  hint  of  something 
more  serious.  Conover,  as  skilled  in  reading  men  as 
he  was  ignorant  in  deciphering  any  problem  relating 
to  woman,  was  aware,  at  a  glance,  of  the  subtle 
change. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  nodding  to  his  secretary  to  go, 
"What's  wrong?  If  you're  scared  because  Steeloid 
fell  off  three-quarters  of  a  point  yesterday,  you  can 
rest  easy.  I  did  it  myself  on  'match'  sales;  and  a 
few  others  — " 

"  It  isn't  Steeloid,"  said  Caine,  "  It's  nothing  that 
really  concerns  me.  But  I  thought  you  would  want 
to  know  about  it." 

"  Fire  away,  then,"  vouchsafed  Caleb,  "  Have  a 
cigar?  These  with  the  gold-an'-red  life  belts  are  nice 
to  look  at.  But  if  you  want  something  that  tastes 
better'n  it  looks,  try  one  of  the  panatelas.  The  ones 
without  illustrations  on  'em.  Now  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  about  Miss  Shevlin,"  began  Caine,  with  re 
luctance. 

Conover's  massive  calm  fled.  He  brought  down  his 
209 


210  THE  FIGHTER 

crossed  legs  from  the  desk  corner  with  a  bang  and 
whirled  his  chair  about. 

"  Speak  it  out,  quick !  "  he  ordered  sharply.  "  Ain't 
sick,  is  she?  " 

"  No,  no.  This  is  different.  You've  heard  of  Ex- 
Governor  Parkman's  plan  to  start  an  anti-graft  cru 
sade,  of  course?  " 

"  Sure !  "  grinned  Caleb,  "  Them  croosades  are  as 
certain  as  measles.  Ev'ry  city  goes  through  'em  ev'ry 
once  in  so  often.  They  don't  do  any  real  hurt  and 
they  can't  tie  up  my  bus'ness  so's  to  bother  me  any. 
Let  'em  croosade  till  they're  black  in  the  face.  It'll 
be  good  for  you  noospaper  fellers,  an'  it  won't  harm 
anybody  it's  aimed  at.  But,"  uneasily,  "  what's  that 
got  to  do  with  Dey  ?  " 

"  I'm  coming  to  the  point  if  you'll  give  me  a  chance. 
Parkman's  preparing  a  set  of  tables  showing  not  only 
how  municipal  funds  are  squandered  at  present  but 
how  they  were  misspent  in  the  past.  In  the  course  of 
his  investigations,  he  has  come  to  the  City  Hall  and 
the  County  Court  House." 

"Well?"  queried  Conover,  "What  then?  Both 
of  'em  was  built  ten  years  ago.  That's  over  an'  done 
with." 

"  The  Shevlin  Contracting  Company  did  the  work," 
interpolated  Caine. 

"  What  of  that  ?  Neither  building's  caved  in,  has 
it?" 

"  Not  yet.     Though,  if  all  Parkman  claims  is  true, 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  211 

I  don't  know  why  they  haven't.  He  came  to  me  this 
morning  with  the  whole  story.  Proofs,  affidavits  and 
all.  He  wants  to  give  the  Star  first  chance  to  pub 
lish  the  exposure.  I  told  him  to  come  back  at  noon, 
and—" 

"What  exposure?"  asked  Caleb  in  perplexity. 

"  It  seems  he  took  pains  to  hunt  up  the  original 
specifications  on  both  buildings,"  resumed  Caine, 
"  And  then  he  hired  an  architectural  expert  to  go 
over  the  plans  and  the  work  and  see  how  the  two 
agreed.  Thus  far,  he  has  found  cheap  foundations 
and  sandstone  bedding  where  the  best  concrete  and 
granite  were  called  for.  Stucco  has  been  used  in  no 
less  than  four  corridors  where  the  plans  called  for 
marble.  The  '  solid  marble  pillars  '  on  the  'east  por 
tico  are  '  composition,'  shells  filled  with  cement. 
Then  the  facade  — " 

"  Say,  son,"  interrupted  Conover  with  perfect  sin 
cerity,  "  what  in  blazes  is  the  matter  with  you  and 
Parkman?  You've  bit  into  a  mare's  nest,  an'  any 
practical  man'll  tell  you  so.  Of  course  a  contractor's 
goin'  to  make  what  he  can  on  a  job.  He  ain't  in  the 
business  for  his  health  or  to  endow  the  city,  is  he? 
He's  got  to  get  his,  an'  the  pol'ticians  who  throw  the 
job  to  him  have  got  to  get  theirs.  An'  that  bein'  so, 
how's  he  goin'  to  foller  out  all  the  arch'tect's  spec'fi- 
cations  an'  still  make  the  right  money  out  of  it?  He 
can't.  I  thought  ev'rybody  knew  that  much  pol'tics." 

"  Conover,"  observed  Caine,  in  unwilling  admira- 


212  THE  FIGHTER 

tion.  "  I've  heard  people  say  you're  a  man  of  bad 
morals.  It  isn't  true.  You're  simply  a  man  of  no 
morals  at  all.  Do  you  mean  to  say  —  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  say  business  is  business  an'  pol'tics  is 
business  too.  I  never  heard  of  any  good  comin'  from 
mixin'  up  morals  with  either  of  'em.  If  you  came 
here  to-day  to  tell  me  this  story,  with  an  idee  that  I'd 
slap  my  manly  brow  an'  say :  '  Great  heaven !  Can 
such  things  be  ? '  you've  brought  your  s'prise  party  to 
the  wrong  house.  Of  course,  Shevlin  made  a  good 
thing  out  of  those  two  buildin's.  Even  after  the  folks 
higher  up  had  got  their  rake-off,  I  guess  he  must  a' 
cleaned  up  close  to  $800,000.  An'  then  the  old  fool 
went  an'  bio  wed  it  all  in  Wall  Street,  an'  died  before 
he  could  make  a  new  pile.  But,  say!  What's  this 
got  to  do  with  —  ?  " 

"With  Miss  Shevlin?  I  am  coming  to  that. 
This  '  mare's  nest,'  as  you  call  it,  that  Parkman  has 
unearthed,  may  look  harmless  to  you  and  to  other 
practical  business-politicians.  But  to  nine  people  out 
of  ten  it  will  have  very  much  the  look  of  bare-faced 
robbery.  So  much  so  that  it  will  prove  the  biggest 
newspaper  sensation  of  the  year.  Mr.  Shevlin  will  be 
everywhere  spoken  of  as  — " 

"  I  catch  your  meanin' !  "  broke  in  Caleb,  "  The 
'  Holier'n  Thou '  crowd  will  raise  a  yell,  drag  Shevlin 
out  of  his  snug,  comf'table  grave  an'  croocify  him. 
He'll  be  spoke  of  by  the  papers  an'  by  the  man  on  the 
street  as  the  rottenest  grafter  of  the  century.  An' 
ev'rywhere  Dey  goes,  folks'll  nudge  each  other  an' 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  213 

whisper :  *  Them  fine  clo'es  was  bought  out  o'  the 
dough  her  ol'  man  stole  from  the  city.'  An'  all  the 
time  there's  no  less  than  a  dozen  cases  of  city  graft 
goin'  on  in  Granite  to-day  that  are  raw  enough  to 
make  Shevlin's  deals  look  like  a  game  of  Old  Maid! 
Still,"  he  muttered,  dropping  his  head  on  his  chest  in 
thought,  "  all  that  won't  keep  this  story  from  queerin' 
Dey  in  s'ciety  and  givin'  her  a  black  eye  as  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  crook." 

"  That's  why  I  put  off  Parkman  till  I  could  see 
you,"  explained  Caine,  "  He  came  direct  to  me  with 
the  news.  It's  lucky  I  happened  to  be  in  town.  If 
he  had  gone  to  my  managing  editor  instead,  there 
would  be  a  scare-head  Extra  on  the  streets  by  now." 

"  Well,"  returned  Conover,  "  the  story's  got  to  be 
hushed  up,  of  course.  An'  I  hate  to  pay  hush-money. 
But  I  guess  this  is  one  of  the  times  when  it's  got  to  be 
done.  I  wonder  what's  Parkman's  price?" 

Caine  laughed,  mirthlessly. 

"  Parkman's  as  rich  a  man  as  you  are,"  he  said, 
"  And  he's  so  upright  that  he  bends  backward.  He 
would  like  nothing  better  than  to  prove  attempted 
bribery  against  you.  No,  the  adage  about  '  every  man 
having  his  price  '  won't  apply  in  Parkman's  case." 

"  Rot !  "  growled  Conover.  "  There  ain't  a  case  on 
earth  where  it  won't  apply.  The  price  ain't  always 
money;  but  it's  always  dead  sure  to  be  somethin'. 
Only,  I  ain't  got  time,  I  s'pose,  to  find  out  what  Park 
man's  partic'lar  rates  are.  I  wish  I  had.  If  I'd  had 
wind  of  this  a  week  earlier  I'd  have  been  able  by  now 


214  THE  FIGHTER 

to  lay  my  finger  on  his  pet  weakness  or  fav'rite  sin  or 
cash  price  an'  say  '  Shut  up ! '  An'  he'd  a'done  it, 
quicker'n  greased  lightning." 

"  You're  mistaken,"  averred  Caine.  "  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  — " 

I  know  it  has  nothin'  to  do  with  this  muddle  we're 
in  now,"  snapped  Conover,  "  I  ain't  sayin'  it  has. 
But  Parkman  has  his  price  just  the  same,  if  only  we 
could  find  out  what  it  is.  There  never  was  but  one 
Man  that  hadn't.  An'  that  was  why  they  put  Him 
to  death.  What  do  you  want  for  keepin'  the  story 
out  of  the  Star?  "  he  ended,  abruptly. 

Caine's  handsome  face  contracted  in  sudden  wrath. 
Then,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  If  only  you  knew  better,"  he  sighed  in  comic  res 
ignation,  "  you'd  be  horsewhipped  three  times  a  week. 
What  a  mighty,  impregnable  armor  is  profound  ig 
norance!  Unfortunately,"  he  went  on,  more  gravely, 
"  I  couldn't  avail  myself  of  your  very  tactfully  veiled 
offer  even  if  I  chose.  The  Star  is  but  one  of  Gran 
ite's  four  daily  newspapers.  If  I  refuse  to  print  the 
f  story,  the  three  others  remain  to  — " 

"  H'm,"  mused  Conover.  "  I  s'pose  so.  I  s'pose 
so.  In  another  five  years  there  won't  be  a  paper  in 
Granite  that'll  dare  print  a  word  I  tell  'em  not  to.  I 
wish  now  I'd  bought  up  their  stock  already;  instead 
of  waitin'  until  I  get  some  more  important  deals  off 
my  hands.  A  noospaper  is  a  good  weapon  for  a  big 
man  to  keep  for  emergencies.  If  t' wasn't  for  the 
papers  I  could  a'  pulled  off  lots  of  dandy  schemes. 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  215 

What  a  cinch  the  old  time  business  men  must  a'  had 
before  printin'  was  invented!  " 

His  voice  trailed  away.  His  head  once  more  sank. 
His  eyes  were  shut ;  his  forehead  contracted. 

"  I  thought  it  only  fair  — "  began  Caine. 

"  Shut  up ! "  grunted  Conover,  "  I'm  thinkin'. 
Leave  me  be." 

Caine,  in  no  wise  offended,  held  his  peace,  and 
watched  the  big  concentrated  figure  that  sprawled  so 
motionless  in  the  desk  chair.  For  several  minutes 
the  two  sat  in  silence.  Then  Caleb  opened  his  eyes. 
The  frown  had  cleared;  the  light  of  battle  flickered 
beneath  his  shrewd  lids. 

"  Caine,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  got  a  confession 
to  make.  You're  the  first  to  hear  it.  So  be  flattered. 
Caine,  Ol'  Man  Shevlin  had  nothin'  to  do  with  the 
Shevlin  Contractin'  Company,  at  the  time  the  City 
Hall  an'  the  County  Courthouse  was  started.  Six 
months  before  then,  he'd  sold  out  the  whole  business 
to  me." 

"  What  are  —  ?  " 

"  Hold  on  a  second,"  ordered  Caleb.  "  Hear  all 
the  sad,  sad  secret  before  you  fly  up  in  the  air.  I 
bought  out  the  Shevlin  Contractin'  Com'pany,  lock, 
stock  an'  bar'l;  good  will  an'  fixtures.  I  still  ran  it 
under  Shevlin's  name,  so's  to  get  the  good  of  his  old 
trade.  That's  why  I  worked  through  agents.  / 
didn't  appear  in  it  at  all.  I  built  the  Court  House  an' 
the  noo  City  Hall,  an'  made  close  onto  a  million  out  of 
the  deal.  It  was  crooked  work  if  you  like.  But  the 


216  THE  FIGHTER 

statoot  of  limitations'll  keep  me  from  bein'  indicted 
for  it,  I  guess.  An'  if  I  am  indicted,  I'll  bet  fifty 
dollars  to  fifty  doughnuts  the  case'll  never  come  to 
trial.  Yessir,  I'm  the  guilty  man,  all  right.  An'  I 
can  prove  it." 

"Are  you  quite  through?"  asked  Caine  with  ex 
aggerated  politeness,  as  the  Fighter  paused. 

"  Yep.  That's  'bout  all.  Good  story  for  the  pa 
pers,  hey?" 

"  An  excellent  story  —  for  the  horse  marines,"  re 
torted  Caine.  "  Really,  Conover,"  he  continued  al 
most  plaintively,  "  I  don't  see  what  overt  acts  of  idiocy 
I  have  ever  committed  that  you  should  offer  so  vile 
an  insult  to  my  intelligence." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ? "  queried  Caleb  with  bland 
innocence. 

"  I  mean,  every  word  of  that  rigmarole  is  a  thread 
in  one  of  the  clumsiest  tangles  of  lies  I  have  ever  had 
the  misfortune  to  listen  to.  I  thought  better  of  your 
inventive  powers !  " 

"  You  don't  believe  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Conover,  ag 
grieved. 

"  I'm  not  lucky  enough  to  have  had  the  Chess 
Queen's  training  in  '  believing  at  least  three  impossi 
ble  things  before  breakfast  every  morning,' "  mis 
quoted  Caine.  "  Really,  Conover,  did  it  never  occur 
to  you  that  telling  an  unnecessary  lie  is  almost  tempt 
ing  Providence  ?  " 

"  The  story's  true,"  persisted  Caleb,  doggedly, 
"  Just  like  I  told  it  to  you.  I  owned  the  Shevlin  Con- 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  217 

tractin'  Comp'ny.  Shevlin  had  been  out  of  it  six 
months.  I  was  the  one  that  did  the  graftin'  when 
the  two  buildin's  was  put  up.  An'  I  ain't  ashamed 
of  it." 

Caine  looked  long,  quizzically,  into  the  light,  alert 
eyes  that  so  brazenly  met  his. 

"  I  really  believe  you  mean  to  stick  to  it,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  But  why?  And  don't  you  see  that  a  single 
glance  at  the  records  will  disprove  it  all?  If  Shevlin 
really  transferred  his  business  to  you,  there  would  be 
a  record  of  it." 

"  There'll  be  a  record  —  if  it's  needed,"  countered 
the  Fighter,  "  That  the  easiest  part  of  it  all.  But 
it  won't  be  needed.  My  say-so  will  be  b'lieved  for 
once.  Folks  won't  s'pose  a  man  would  accuse  himself 
of  bein'  a  crook  if  he  was  reelly  on  the  square." 

"  Do  as  you  please,"  replied  Caine  impatiently,  "  but 
don't  keep  up  the  farce  with  me" 

"  All  right,"  assented  Caleb  with  cheerful  acquies 
cence,  "  I  won't,  if  it  jars  you.  But  that's  the  story 
that's  goin'  out  under  my  name.  An'  you're  the  man 
who's  goin'  to  help  me.  Now,  listen  to  me,  an'  be  sure 
you  get  my  instructions  right.  An'  don't  butt  in  with 
any  objections.  Because  I  need  you  to  help  me.  If 
you  don't,  some  other  paper  will.  May  as  well  get  a 
'  beat '  for  the  Star.  Besides,  you  know  I  can  help 
folks  sometimes  who  helps  me.  There's  other  deals 
besides  Steeloid.  Will  you  stand  by  me?  Is  it  a 
go?" 

The  Fighter's  tone  had  deepened  to  a  growl  that 


218  THE  FIGHTER 

held  more  menace  than  appeal.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
in  scowling  command  on  his  visitor's  face. 

"  This  cringing  attitude  of  yours  touches  me  to  the 
heart,"  said  Caine;  speaking  lightly,  though  he  felt 
the  other's  magnetic  domination  throughout  his  en 
tire  being,  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  want  you,"  dictated  Conover,  "  to  go  back  to 
your  office  and  send  for  your  best  reporter.  Don't  put 
this  up  to  your  managin'  editor,  but  handle  it  your 
self.  The  reporter  will  work  a  lot  better  when  he 
thinks  it's  a  story  the  owner's  int'rested  in.  That's 
workman-nature,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Go  ahead,"  smiled  Caine,  fighting  against  that 
merciless  domination  which  found  expression  in  the 
man  himself,  not  in  his  words. 

"  Send  for  your  best,  sharpest  reporter,"  resumed 
Caleb,  "  Give  him  an  outline  of  this  case  against  old 
Shevlin.  Tell  him  to  spread  himself  on  it.  As  a 
starter,  tell  him  Shevlin  an'  me  used  to  be  friends,  an' 
suggest  that  he'd  better  chase  around  here  first  of  all 
an'  interview  me,  to  find  out  if  I  ever  heard  of  the 
graft  trick  that  was  worked  on  those  two  public  build- 
in's.  I  never  let  reporters  get  in  here;  but  I'll  make 
an  exception  in  this  case,  'cause  he'll  bring  a  pers'nal 
note  from  my  pers'nal  friend,  Amzi  Nicholas  Caine, 
Esquire.  I'll  talk  to  him  kind  of  guarded-like.  But 
pretty  soon  I'll  get  rattled  under  his  questions,  an'  let 
out  enough  to  put  him  on  the  right  track.  Then  when 
I  see  he's  s'picious,  I'll  give  in  an'  tell  him  the  whole 
thing,  an'  exonerate  ol'  Shevlin  to  beat  the  band. 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  219 

That  reporter'll  feel  like  the  man  who  went  out  for 
squirrels  an'  brought  home  a  bear.  Then,  when  he 
reports  back  to  you,  I  want  you  should  be  firm  in  your 
dooty  to  the  c'moonity.  You  must  decide  that  per- 
s'nal  friendship  can't  stand  in  the  way  of  the  public's 
sacred  right  to  find  out  things  that's  none  of  their 
business.  Print  the  whole  terr'ble  trooth.  Don't 
spare  me.  But  see  that  you  clear  Shevlin's  name  till 
it  shines  like  it  had  a  Sat'dy  night  bath.  An'  Dey  — 
ain't  —  to  —  be  —  mentioned!  Understand ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  answered  Caine,  "  And  I'll  do  noth 
ing  of  the  sort." 

"  D'ye  mean  you  —  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  this :  You  are  the  most  conscience 
less,  inhuman  brute  I  ever  met;  but  I  have  a  sort  of 
morbid  liking  for  you.  Besides,  as  you  so  often  take 
graceful  occasion  to  remind  me,  I  am  in  your  debt  for 
certain  financial  favors.  Also,  I  have  some  regard  for 
the  truth  of  what  appears  in  my  own  newspaper.  For 
all  those  reasons  —  and  for  several  more  —  I'm  not 
going  to  help  you  to  commit  social  suicide,  nor  to 
stamp  yourself  as  more  of  a  highwayman  than  you 
really  are.  Is  that  plain  ?" 

"  So  plain  that  it's  plumb  ugly,"  replied  Caleb, 
"  But  you'll  do  it  just  the  same.  If  it  ain't  the  Star, 
it'll  be  one  of  the  other  papers.  That  story's  goin'  to 
be  in  print  by  tomorrow  mornin'.  You  speak  'bout 
likin'  me  an'  bein'  in  my  debt.  The  best  way 
you  can  show  that  likin'  an'  gratitood  is  by  doin'  as  I 
ask  now.  The  Star's  the  best  paper  in  Granite  an'  it's 


220  THE  FIGHTER 

read  by  the  best  people.  Don't  you  s'pose  I'd  rather 
have  folks  get  their  first  idee  of  the  story  from  such  a 
paper  as  that  than  to  have  'em  see  it  plastered  all  over 
the  front  page  of  some  screechin'  sheet,  in  letters  two 
feet  high?" 

"  But,"  argued  Caine,  "  What  sense  is  there  in 
doing  it  at  all?" 

"  From  a  grown  man's  point  of  view,"  admitted 
Caleb,  "  There  ain't  a  mite  of  sense  in  it.  It's  straight 
craziness.  But  if  you  think  I'm  goin'  to  let  Dey  go 
around  knowin'  the  trooth  about  her  old  crook  of  a 
father  who  she  worships,  you're  wrong.  She  thinks 
he  was  a  measly  saint  with  a  tin  halo.  An'  she  gets 
pleasure  out  of  thinkin'  it.  An'  she's  goin'  to  go  right 
on  thinkin'  it  to  the  end  of  the  game.  What  sort 
of  a  yellow  dog  would  /  be  to  let  her  hear  things 
about  him  that'd  make  her  cry  an'  that  would  sure 
break  her  heart?  There's  another  thing:  She's  got 
into  a  good  crowd  now.  She  goes  to  folks'  houses  an' 
has  a  good  time  there.  Who's  goin'  to  invite  a  crook's 
daughter  to  their  house  ?  Or,  do  you  think  she'd  go  to 
such  places,  knowin'  how  they  thought  of  her  father? 
Not  her.  She'd  die  first.  Why,  ev'ry  time  folks 
looked  at  her  in  the  street,  she'd  be  thinkin'  to  herself : 
'  It  ain't  because  I'm  so  pretty  an'  'cause  my  eyes  look 
like  two  chunks  of  heaven,  an'  'cause  when  I  smile  at 
you  it  makes  you  feel  as  if  someone  had  lent  you 
money.'  She'd  think :  *  They're  pointin'  me  out  as 
the  daughter  of  Shevlin  who  stole  cash  from  the  city ! ' 
No,  no,  son!  She  ain't  goin'  to  have  none  of  those 


221 

things  happen  to  her.  Not  while  Caleb  Conover's  on 
deck.  Butterfly  smashin'  ain't  in  my  line.  That's 
why  I  say  you've  got  to  help  me.  An'  you'll  do  it, 
too." 

"  Of  course  you  know,"  suggested  Caine,  "  that 
this  will  ruin  those  weird  social  ambitions  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothin'  of  the  sort.  Even  if  I  did,  I  s'pose 
I'd  have  it  to  do  just  the  same.  But  it  won't.  I'm 
too  well  off  to  go  to  jail;  or  to  have  folks  say: 
'  Get  out ! '  when  I  say  '  Let  me  in ! '  There'll  be  a 
sight  of  talk  in  the  papers  an'  all  through  the  State. 
But  folks  get  tired  talkin',  after  awhile.  An'  /  never 
get  tired  risiri .  So  I'll  win  out.  When  I  flash  on 
'em  that  merger  of  the  Up-State  R.  R.  with  my  C.  G. 
&  X.,  they'll  see  I'm  too  big  a  man  to  be  sat  on.  That's 
comin'  off  next  week,  by  the  way.  An'  bigger  schemes 
to  f oiler.  Oh,  folks  won't  be  sore  on  me  long!  So 
you  see  it  ain't  such  a  great  stunt  of  heroism  I'm  doin' 
for  the  little  girl  after  all.  Now  you'd  better  start. 
For  we — " 

"  But  Miss  Shevlin?  She  will  read  what  the  papers 
are  bound  to  say  of  you.  She  will  hear  what  her 
friends  — " 

"  Yes,"  ruefully  admitted  the  Fighter,  "She  will. 
I'll  have  to  take  my  chances  on  that.  If  she  drops  me, 
why  it's  better'n  if  s'ciety  dropped  her.  Better  for 
ev'ry  body  concerned.  Unless  maybe  for  me.  How's 
Miss  Standish?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you.     She  — " 

"  I've  been  meanin'  to  come  'round  and  pay  that 


222  THE  FIGHTER 

dinner  call.  But  I've  been  pretty  busy.  An'  Dey 
says  there's  no  great  hurry." 

"  Just  now,"  answered  Caine,  remembering 
Letty's  moist  appeal,  "  The  Standish  household  is  a 
little  upset.  I'd  call  sometime  later,  if  I  were  you. 
They  will  understand.  Clive  Standish  is  down  with 
mumps,  poor  little  chap." 

"  There's  only  two  kind  of  kids,"  philosophized  Con- 
over,  "  Bad  ones  and  sick  ones.  But  I  ain't  afraid  of 
catchin'  anything.  I'll  be  'round  there  in  a  day  or 
two,  tell  her." 

"  By  the  way,"  remarked  Caine,  to  change  the  sub 
ject  he  found  vaguely  distasteful,  "  Miss  Shevlin  tells 
me  she  has  been  invited  to  spend  the  summer  at  the 
Hawardens'  cottage  at  the  Antlers." 

"Yes,"  returned  Caleb,  drily,  "Kind  of  Mrs. 
Hawarden,  wasn't  it?  Dey's  as  pleased  as  a  small 
boy  with  a  revolver.  She's  been  crazy  to  go  to  the 
Adirondacks.  I  never  knew  she  wanted  to  till  last 
week,  or — " 

"  And  Mrs.  Hawarden  providentially  invited  her 
the  next  day  ? "  put  in  Caine,  his  mouth-corners 
twitching. 

"  That's  right,"  assented  Caleb,  "  I  guess  some  big- 
hearted  philanthrofist  just  took  such  a  fancy  to  Mrs. 
Hawarden  as  to  pay  the  whole  fam'ly's  board  bill  there 
for  the  season;  —  on  condition  she  asked  Dey.  But 
keep  that  to  yourself;  for  maybe  it's  just  a  wrong 
guess.  An'  I  wouldn't  have  Dey  know  it  for  a  thou 
sand  dollars.  Now  go  an'  send  that  reporter  here." 


CALEB  CONOVER  LIES  223 

"  I  wonder,"  mused  Caine,  as  he  departed  on  his 
queer  mission,  "  what  Caleb  Conover  would  be  if  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  were  like  Desiree  Shevlin. 
It's  more  interesting,  though,"  he  added,  "  to  con 
jecture  what  he  would  be  like  without  Desiree  Shevlin. 
Where  would  he  stop,  if  she  were  out  of  his  life?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DESIREE   MAKES   PLANS 

Next  morning,  the  Granite  Star  made  known  to  the 
world  at  large  that  grievous  wrong  had  been  done  to 
the  city  and  to  its  taxpayers  when  their  two  foremost 
public  buildings  had  been  erected.  These  edifices, 
hitherto  the  pride  of  Granite,  were  constructed  of 
cheap,  inferior  material:  were  ill-put  together  and 
were,  in  short,  a  disgrace,  a  byword  and  a  hissing. 
The  city  and  county  had  paid  for  first-class  work. 
They  had  received  fourth-rate  value  for  their  money. 

And  the  miscreant  on  whom  the  sole  and  total  blame 
rested  was  Caleb  Conover,  President  of  the  revivified 
C.  G  &  X.  railroad.  He,  hiding  behind  the  honorable 
name  of  a  man  since  dead,  had  robbed  the  city  with 
one  hand  and  the  county  with  the  other.  Now, 
through  the  cleverness  of  a  Star  reporter,  his  culp 
ability  was  at  last  unearthed. 

Further,  the  Star  desired,  editorially,  to  avoid  need 
less  exploitation  of  scandal  and  the  bringing  to  light  of 
misdemeanors  for  which  there  now  appeared  to  be  no 
legal  penalty.  But  it  owed  a  duty  to  its  constituents, 
the  thinking  class  of  Granite.  Perhaps  Mr.  Conover, 
having,  since  the  regrettable  transactions,  reared  upon 
such  fraudulent  foundations  a  fortune  which  was  esti- 

224 


DESIR&E  MAKES  PLANS  225 

mated  as  verging  upon  the  two  million  mark,  would 
see  his  way  toward  making  restitution. 

To  which  quip  of  Caine's  the  Fighter  retaliated  by 
depressing  Steeloid  stock.  This  bit  of  practical  re 
partee  led  to  a  second  editorial  to  the  effect  that  what 
was  done  was  done,  and  that  perhaps  the  wisest  and 
most  dignified  course  would  be  to  let  the  unfortunate 
matter  rest  where  it  was.  The  lesser  newspapers  of 
the  town,  having  bayed  with  incredible  loudness  and 
ferocity  the  moment  the  Star  gave  voice,  now  showed 
inclination  to  follow  the  leader's  example  in  letting  the 
scandal  die  out. 

There  were  no  further  developments  in  the  case  to 
warrant  continuous  re-hashing  of  the  story  through 
their  columns.  Ex-Governor  Parkman,  finding  him 
self  and  his  crusade  unceremoniously  side  tracked  by 
this  more  interesting  turn  affairs  had  taken,  sulked  in 
his  tent.  Caleb,  after  that  first  momentous  interview, 
would  see  no  reporter.  A  new  sensation  was  thought 
fully  provided  by  the  assistant  cashier  of  the  Aaron 
Burr  National  Bank  who  wandered  one  day  from  his 
post  of  duty  and  neglected  to  return ;  taking  with  him,  | 
in  equal  absent-mindedness,  $18,000  of  the  bank's 
funds. 

Caleb  and  his  inspired  confession,  for  all  these  ex 
cellent  reasons,  were  not  even  a  nine-day  wonder. 
Within  a  week  the  volcano  had  subsided.  The  in 
cident,  apparently,  was  closed.  Whether  or  not  the 
Grand  Jury  would  take  steps  toward  criminal  prosecu 
tion  remained  to  be  seen. 


226  THE  FIGHTER 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  Caleb,  in  answer  to  a  per 
emptory  summons,  called  on  Desiree. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  she  catechised  with  the 
air  of  an  Angora  kitten  enacting  the  role  of  Rhada- 
manthus. 

"  I've  been  busy,"  he  evaded,  "  Workin'  on  a  new 
deal  we're  puttin'  through,  an' — " 

"  Do  you  know  it  is  eight  whole  days  since  you  have 
been  near  me  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Nine,"  he  corrected  humbly.  "I  —  I  been  busy, 
an'—" 

"  And  you  haven't  called  anywhere  else  ?  " 

"Where  else  could  I?"  he  asked  in  amaze, 
"  There's  only  one  place  I  expected  to  call.  That's 
at  the  Standishes'.  An'  they've  got  mumps,  there. 
Besides,  I  kind  of  thought  I'd  wait  until  some  of  this 
noospaper  talk  quieted  down  before  I  went  anywheres, 
That's  —  that's  why  I  didn't  come  here,  either,"  he 
went  on,  shamefacedly. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  she  declared.  "  I  knew  that  was  it. 
I  wondered  if  you  could  be  so  utterly  silly.  So  I 
waited.  And  it  seems  you  could.  Aren't  you 
ashamed?  It  would  have  served  you  right  if  I  hadn't 
sent  for  you  at  all.  Why  didn't  you  come,  Caleb? 
You  surely  don't  suppose  all  that  newspaper  non 
sense  made  any  difference  to  me,  do  you?  Now  stop 
looking  at  me  as  if  I'd  slapped  you  and  promise  not 
to  be  so  bad  any  more.  Promise !  " 

"  Look  here !  "  blurted  Caleb,  at  once  relieved  and 
puzzled,  "  How  was  I  to  know  you  wouldn't  just  about 


DESIR£E  MAKES  PLANS          227 

hate  me  when  you  heard  how  I'd  acted  about  those 
measly  public  buildin's?  An'  your  father's  comp'ny 
too.  Why,  I  — " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  thought  I  believed 
any  of  the  absurd  story  ? "  she  cried,  incredulous. 
"  Why,  Caleb  Conover,  I  — " 

"  It  was  true ! "  he  protested  vehemently,  "  All 
of  it  was  true.  It  was  me,  an'  not  your  father 
that—" 

"  It  was  neither  of  you,  if  there  was  anything  wrong 
about  the  matter,"  she  decided  with  calm  finality, 
"  I  don't  know  business  and  I  don't  know  politics. 
But  I  do  know  you  and  I  knew  Dad.  And  neither  of 
you  could  have  done  a  low  or  dishonest  thing  if  you 
had  tried  all  day.  If  the  papers  choose  to  twist  your 
business  dealings  upside  down  and  try  to  make  people 
think  either  of  you  defrauded  anybody, —  why,  so 
much  the  worse  for  people  who  are  stupid  enough  to 
believe  such  falsehoods.  That's  all  there  is  about  it. 
I've  seen  cartoons  of  you  garroting  the  city  of  Gran 
ite,  and  I've  read  editorials  that  called  you  '  Brute ' 
Conover  and  I've  waded  through  columns  of  articles 
abusing  you.  And  it  all  made  me  angry  enough  to 
cry.  But  not  at  you,  you  old  chum  of  mine.  At  the 
people  who  wrote  such  vile  things  and  tried  to  make 
the  public  believe  them.  Now  let's  talk  about  me. 
Are  you  glad  I'm  going  away?  Please  be." 

"  Am  I  glad  I'm  not  goin'  to  see  you  for  more'n 
two  months  ? "  corrected  Caleb,  "  Not  much  I'm 
not.  It  gives  me  the  blues  ev'ry  time  I  think  of  it." 


228  THE  FIGHTER 

"  But  you  are  going  to  see  me.  I've  thought  it  all 
out,  and  I've  got  your  orders  ready  for  you." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  not  goin'  ?  "  queried 
Caleb  in  dismay.  "  But  you've  got  to,  Dey.  Just 
think  how  much  you've  wanted  to,  an' — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  going,"  she  replied  serenely.  "  I've 
promised  Mrs.  Hawarden.  And,  besides,  I  wouldn't 
miss  it  for  worlds.  But  you're  coming,  too.  Isn't 
that  nice?" 

She  leaned  back  to  watch  his  delight  in  her  reve 
lation.  But  he  eyed  her  without  a  ray  of  understand 
ing. 

"  I  mean,"  she  explained,  "  you're  going  to  take  a 
nice,  long  vacation  in  August  or  September  and  com 
ing  up  to  the  Antlers.  I  talked  it  over  with  Jack  Ha 
warden  and  it's  all  arranged.  There  won't  be  room 
for  you  in  the  cottage,  but  you  can  get  a  tent  or  a 
lodge  within  a  stone's  throw  of  it;  and  we'll  have  the 
gloriousest  time  you  ever  dreamed  of.  Isn't  that 
splendid  ?  Say  it  is !  " 

"But  Dey,"  he  objected.  "You  don't  under 
stand.  I  never  took  a  vacation  in  my  life.  I  ain't 
got  time  to.  This  is  goin'  to  be  the  busiest  summer 
yet,  for  me.  I've  a  dozen  irons  in  the  fire.  I'd  like 
awful  well  to  come  an'  see  you  there,  but  — " 

"I've  settled  it  all,"  she  replied  camly,  "And 
you're  coming.  It  will  only  be  two  weeks;  —  if  you 
can't  get  away  for  longer.  But  you're  coming  for 
those  two  weeks." 

"  I  can't,  Dey.     I've  got  — " 


DESIR£E  MAKES  PLANS         229 

"  Now,  I  suppose  you  expect  me  to  be  a  lowly 
squidge,  and  sigh  and  say  '  Oh,  very  well ! '  "  she  re 
torted.  "  But  I'm  not  going  to  do  anything  of  the 
sort.  Listen:  You've  never  had  a  vacation.  Then 
it's  time  you  took  one.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  be  so  inex 
perienced,  if  I  were  you.  You've  got  a  lot  of  irons  in 
the  fire.  Very  well  then ;  you  have  two  whole  months 
to  get  enough  of  them  out  to  let  you  take  a  fortnight's 
rest.  You've  never  gone  anywhere  with  me,  Caleb. 
You've  just  been  with  me  for  an  afternoon  or  an  even 
ing  when  half  your  mind  was  on  that  wretched  rail 
road.  Think  of  our  being  together  for  two  gorgeous 
outdoor  weeks,  with  nothing  to  do  but  have  all  the 
good  times  there  are.  And  in  the  Adirondacks,  too. 
Caleb!" 

"I'd  — I'd  love  to,  Dey,  if—" 

"  So  then  it's  all  arranged !  "  she  cried,  happily. 

"  Hold  on !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  can't.     I  — " 

"  Now,  I  shall  have  to  discipline  you,"  she  sighed. 
"  I  see  that.  I  was  afraid  I'd  have  to.  Look  me  in 
the  eyes!  Now,  say  after  me:  '  I  promise  to  come  to 
the  Antlers  for  a  fortnight  this  summer.'  Say  it!  " 

"I  — Why,  Dey,  I—" 

"  That  isn't  what  I  told  you  to  say !  "  she  broke  in, 
sternly.  "  Say  it  now.  Slowly.  '  I  promise  to  — 
—  Say  it!" 

"  I  promise  to  — "  he  repeated  in  resignation. 

"  Come  to  the  Antlers  for  a  fortnight  this  summer. 
Say  it!" 

"  Come  to  the  Antlers  for  a  fortnight  this  summer," 


THE  FIGHTER 

he   groaned,    "  Lord !     What'll   my   work   do,   while 
I  —  ?  " 

"  Now  see  how  nice  you  are ! "  exulted  Desiree, 
"  You're  being  good  at  last.     Don't  you  feel  happier 
now  you've  stopped  being  bad  and  obstinate?     Say 
so!" 
.     "  Does  it  make  you  happier  ?  "  he  evaded. 

"  Of  course  it  does.  But,"  she  added,  paying  truth 
its  strict  due,  "  of  course  I  knew  you  were  coming 
anyhow.  Now  let's  talk  about  it." 

"  But  say,"  he  protested,  "  S'pose  you  an'  your 
aunt  run  down  to  Coney  Island  or  Atlantic  City  after 
you  leave  the  Adirondacks;  an'  let  me  come  down 
there  instead?  There's  lots  of  fun  to  be  had  at  those 
places.  But  what  can  /  do  up  in  the  woods?  Just 
measly  trees  an'  sky  an'  water;  an'  not  even  a  Loop 
the  Loop  or  a  music  hall,  I  s'pose.  Gee!  It's  too 
slow  for  my  taste." 

"  Then  it  is  my  mission  to  improve  your  taste,"  she 
insisted,  frowning  down  his  amendment  as  unworthy 
of  note,  "  Don't  you  want  to  like  the  things  I  like  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  obediently. 

"  And  when  you  know  it  will  give  me  twice  as  much 
fun  if  you're  there  with  me,  you'll  want  to  come  to 
the  Adirondacks,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  If  it'd  make  any  sort  of  a  hit  with  you,  Dey,"  he 
answered  in  full  honesty,  "  I'd  spend  those  two  weeks 
in  a  contagion  ward.  An'  you  know  it.  But  what  in 
thunder  is  there  to  do,  up  in  the  wilderness  ?  " 


DESIRfiE  MAKES  PLANS  231 

"  We  can  go  on  camping  trips,  for  one  thing,"  she 
said  eagerly,  "  and  cook  our  own  meals  out  in  the 
forest  and  sit  around  camp-fires  and  — " 

"  I  did  all  those  things  when  I  was  workin'  on  the 
section  gang  eighteen  years  ago,"  interpolated  Caleb, 
"  An'  got  one-eighty-five  a  day  for  doin'  it.  It  didn't 
get  much  enthoosiasm  out  of  me  then.  Maybe  it's 
better  fun  though  when  you  have  to  pay  hotel  rates 
for  the  priv'lege.  Any  more  aloorments?  " 

"A  great  many,"  said  she  coldly.  "  But  I  shall 
punish  you  by  not  telling  you  any  of  them.  You  have 
n't  seen  Miss  Standish  since  the  day  we  went  to  the 
Arareek  Club?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  too  accustomed  to  her  quick 
changes  of  theme  to  see  anything  significant  in  the 
careless  question,  "  But  I  hope  to  see  quite  a  lot  of 
her  this  summer.  She's  stayin'  late  in  town.  An' 
it'll  be  lonesome  for  me  after  you're  gone.  I  guess 
she  an'  I'll  get  better  acquainted  before  fall." 

"  You  still  have  that  —  plan  —  you  spoke  of?  "  she 
answered,  speaking  low  and  hurriedly. 

"  Sure !  "  he  answered,  "  I  don't  let  go  of  plans, 
once  I've  took  the  trouble  to  make  'em.  I'll  let  you 
know  how  I  come  out.  But  there  ain't  much  doubt." 

He  checked  himself,  remembering  all  at  once  how  a 
similar  vaunt  had  been  received  by  Desiree  a  few 
weeks  earlier.  But  now,  to  his  covert  glance  of  ap 
prehension,  the  girl's  delicate  face  showed  no  sign  of 
resentment.  He  noticed,  however,  for  the  first  time, 


232  THE  FIGHTER 

that  her  aspect  had  but  a  shade  of  its  usual  fresh  buoy 
ancy  ;  that  the  soft  rounded  cheek  was  paler  than  was 
its  wont. 

"  You're  lookin'  all  run  down,  Dey ! "  he  cried,  in 
quick  concern,  "  This  hot  weather's  hurtin'  you.  It's 
high  time  you  went  away  to  — " 

"  Yes,"  she  interrupted  wearily,  "  It's  time  I  went 
away." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   DUST   DAYS 

July  held  Granite  in  a  hot,  dry  grip  that  parched 
the  leaves  and  grass  into  a  grayish  green  and  with 
every  vagrant  breeze  set  the  dust  devils  a-dancing. 

Almost  everybody  was  out  of  town, —  with  the  ex 
ception  of  some  nine-tenths  of  the  city's  total  popula 
tion.  These  unfortunate  town-bound  mortals 
sweltered  and  sweated  in  office,  store  and  cottage,  or 
sweltered  and  died  in  the  network  of  mean  streets  be 
yond  the  railroad  tracks.  Daily  from  the  slums  crept 
slow  lines  of  carriages,  headed  too  often  by  a  hideous 
white  vehicle  which  in  grisly  panoply  was  carrying 
some  silent  child  on  its  first  trip  to  the  country ;  there 
to  have  the  day  of  blessed  release  from  noise  and 
overcrowding  marked  —  if  the  parents  could  scrape  to 
gether  enough  insurance  money  —  with  a  white  stone. 
In  gutter  and  alleyway  of  the  tenement  district 
swarmed  the  gaunt  little  survivors.  In  doorways  or 
in  shaded  corners  of  roofs  or  in  overcrowded  bars 
panted  their  elders. 

The  residence  streets  one  by  one  had  gone  blind  and 
lay  empty,  fraught  with  a  strange  lifelessness.  Ultra- 
exclusive  Pompton  Avenue,  its  houses  converted  into 
still  mausoleums,  baked  under  the  merciless  sun.  Its 

233 


234  THE  FIGHTER 

lawns  ran  rank.  From  the  wide  thoroughfare  itself 
arose  endless  whirls  of  dust  and  the  smell  of  boiling 
asphalt.  A  few  homes  still  wore  the  awnings  and 
veranda  lattices  of  June;  proclaiming  the  presence  of 
tenants  who  could  not  yet  shake  from  their  feet  —  or 
from  any  other  part  of  their  grimed  anatomies  —  the 
dust  of  the  city. 

Caleb  Conover,  in  his  suffocating  private  office, 
toiled  on  untiring.  On  his  chilled  steeled  nerves  and 
toughened  body,  the  heat  hurled  itself  in  vain.  Coat- 
less,  collarless,  without  waistcoat,  his  shirt  neck  wide 
open,  his  suspenders  hanging,  he  ploughed  his  daily 
route  through  mountains  of  work;  his  worn  out  office 
force  plodding  wearily  in  his  impetuous  wake.  And 
in  these  days  of  dust  and  scorching  sun,  Caleb  was 
indeed  making  hay,  after  his  own  fashion.  To  him 
was  due  the  fact  that  more  Pompton  Avenue  resi 
dences  were  open  this  summer  than  ever  before.  Men 
who  in  social  life  were  wont  to  look  on  him  as  a 
pariah,  were  none  the  less  jumping  as  he  pulled  the 
commercial  strings  and  were  dancing  to  his  music. 
For  Caleb,  his  slow  lines  at  length  laid  out,  was  mak 
ing  a  general  advance  upon  the  financial  defenses  be 
hind  which  for  years  the  staid  business  men  of  the 
county  had  dozed  in  short-sighted  security. 

The  first  news  of  the  attack  came  with  the  an 
nouncement  of  his  merger  of  two  railroads  —  the 
Broomell-Shelp  and  the  Upstate  —  with  the  C.  G.  & 
X. ;  which  virtually  gave  the  last  named  road  a  mo 
nopoly  of  state  traffic.  Stocks  had  been  hammered 


THE  DUST  DAYS  235 

down,  share-holders  stampeded  by  calamity-rumors, 
and  holdings  bought  in  at  panic  rates  by  the  Fighter. 
Then  had  come  reorganization  and  —  presto!  the  C. 
G.  &  X.  had  benevolently  assimilated  its  two  chief 
rivals.  Men  who  had  considered  their  railroad  stock 
as  safe  an  investment  as  government  bonds  now  stayed 
in  town  for  lack  of  funds  to  go  away  for  the  summer; 
or  else  in  order  to  seek  eager  alliance  with  the  Fight 
er's  swift-swelling  interests.  Pompton  Avenue  was 
hard  hit. 

Nor  was  this  the  sum  of  Caleb's  warm  weather  ac 
tivities.  There  were  other  deals  less  widely  blazoned, 
yet  quite  as  remunerative;  deals  that  plunged  so  far 
beneath  the  surface  of  practical  politics  as  to  emerge 
black  with  the  mire  of  the  bottom.  But  it  was  gold- 
bearing  mud,  and  Caleb  knew  the  secret  of  assaying 
it.  These  submerged  ventures  brought  at  odd  hours 
to  the  stuffy  private  office  a  succession  of  slum- 
dwellers  ;  even  as  the  mergers  brought,  at  other  hours, 
the  Pompton  Avenue  element.  Long  were  the  con 
ferences  and  deeply  was  the  Underworld  stirred 
thereby.  Thus,  in  the  maze  of  hovels  "  across  the 
tracks,"  as  well  as  along  the  hill  boulevards,  did  Caleb 
Conover  cause  unwonted  activity  of  a  sort,  during  the 
stifling  days  of  dust. 

Caine,  remaining  in  town,  more  to  glean  in  the  path 
of  Conover's  sickle  than  to  look  after  the  interests  of 
his  own  newspaper,  was  moved  to  admiring  envy. 
The  Steeloid  deal  which  a  few  months  earlier  had 
meant  so  much  for  both  himself  and  Conover,  was 


236  THE  FIGHTER 

now  but  a  side  issue  with  the  latter;  a  mere  detail 
whose  ultimate  fate  could  not  materially  affect  his  fast 
multiplying  wealth.  The  campaign  which  for  years 
had  been  Caleb's  objective,  was  carried  through  now 
with  a  rush  and  daring  that  led  onlookers,  who  knew 
not  how  long-devised  was  each  seemingly  wild  move, 
to  catch  their  breath  and  wonder  when  the  crash  would 
come.  But  the  crash  did  not  come.  It  would  not 
come.  Conover  could  have  told  them  that,  had  he  in 
these  hot  weeks  of  ceaseless  rush  possessed  the  leisure 
and  will  to  explain  his  lightning  moves. 

Blacarda,  too, —  emerging  from  retirement  with 
scarred  face,  a  useless  left  arm  and  a  heart  black  with 
mingled  dread,  deathless  hatred  and  an  obsessed  crav 
ing  for  revenge, —  Blacarda  noted  his  foe's  sudden 
triumph  and  yearned  to  the  depths  of  his  semi-Semitic 
soul  to  turn  in  some  way  the  Fighter's  flank.  But,  for 
the  moment,  he  was  helpless.  He  could  but  set  into 
motion  such  few  schemes  of  his  own  as  seemed  feasi 
ble;  and  begin  a  course  of  underground  counterplan- 
ning,  whose  progress  was  by  no  means  rapid  enough 
to  ease  the  hate  that  mastered  him.  Meantime,  he 
kept  out  of  the  Fighter's  way.  For,  even  yet,  his 
wrecked  nerves  thrilled  treacherously  at  fear  of  phys 
ical  nearness  to  the  brute  who  had  broken  him. 

To  Caine's  casual  warning  anent  Blacarda,  Caleb 
gave  no  heed  whatever.  He  had  conquered  the  man 
once.  Should  the  need  arise,  he  could  do  so  again. 
In  the  meantime  he  had  no  time  to  waste  in  following 
his  victim's  crawling  movements. 


THE  DUST  DAYS  237 

Great  was  Caleb  Conover.  He  was  fighting.  He 
had  always  been  fighting.  Just  now,  battle  was  as 
the  breath  of  his  nostrils.  For  he  was  waging  a  win 
ning  fight;  warring  and  winning  on  a  scale  to  which 
he  had  never  before  been  able  to  attain.  And  the 
militant  bulldog  part  of  him  was  strangely  elate. 

But,  when  the  hot  night  came,  and  the  day's  warfare 
was  over,  there  would  ever  come  upon  Conover  an  odd 
sense  of  emptiness,  of  lonely  depression.  More  than 
once,  absent  mindedly,  he  caught  himself  planning  to 
banish  the  feeling  by  picking  up  his  hat  and  hurrying 
across  to  Desiree's  home.  Then,  with  a  slight  shock, 
he  would  remember  that  Desiree  was  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks  and  that  he  was  —  alone. 

He  had  always  known  the  absent  girl  was  necessary 
to  his  happiness;  that  without  her  he  was  a  loreless, 
unlovable  financial  machine.  But  now  he  realized 
with  a  sick  ache  at  his  heart  how  utterly  he  had  grown 
to  depend  upon  her  actual  presence  —  on  the  constant 
knowledge  that  she  was  near.  When  this,  his  first 
clumsy  effort  at  self -analysis,  had  been  worked  out, 
Caleb  laughed  at  himself  for  a  fool.  But  there  was 
as  little  merriment  in  the  laugh  as  with  most  mortals 
who  seek  to  evoke  self -amusement  from  the  same 
cause. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  desolate  moods,  after  a 
twelve-hour  day's  ceaseless  work,  that  it  occurred  to 
Conover  one  evening  to  call  on  Letty  Standish.  He 
had  not  for  a  moment  abandoned  his  idea  of  making 
her  his  wife.  But  that  would  come  in  due  time;  and 


238  THE  FIGHTER 

meanwhile  he  had  been  busy  with  matters  that  could 
not  be  so  readily  postponed.  True,  he  had  at  last  paid 
the  deferred  dinner  call.  But  Miss  Standish,  the  but 
ler  had  said,  was  not  at  home.  Twice  he  had  re 
peated  the  visit,  and  both  times  had  been  met  by  the 
same  message.  This  did  not  strike  him  as  at  all 
peculiar.  In  summer,  people  were  apt  to  be  out  of 
doors.  Perhaps  to-night  he  might  find  her  at  home. 
At  all  events,  the  walk  would  lighten  his  loneliness. 

Painfully  donning  his  highest  collar,  gayest  tie  and 
new  cream-colored  crash  suit,  the  Fighter  turned  his 
face  toward  Pompton  Avenue.  As  he  neared  the 
Standish  house,  the  murmur  of  voices,  occasional 
bursts  of  low  laughter  and  the  idle  twanging  of  a 
guitar  reached  his  ears.  Several  people  were  grouped 
on  the  piazza.  So  interested  were  they  in  a  story  one 
of  their  number  was  telling  that  Caleb  stood  on  the 
topmost  step  before  his  approach  was  noticed. 

Letty,  following  eagerly  each  tone  of  the  narrator's 
voice,  in  search  of  the  psychological  moment  for 
laughing,  looked  up  to  see  Conover  towering  over 
her,  bulking  huge  against  the  dying  dusk.  Her  invol 
untary  little  cry  brought  the  story  to  a  premature  close. 

It  was  Caine,  who,  sitting  back  among  the  shadows, 
rose  as  usual  to  the  situation. 

"  Hello,  old  chap !  "  he  said,  cordially,  as  he  came 
forward,  "  You  loomed  up  before  us  like  a  six-by- 
four  ghost.  Letty, — " 

Miss  Standish  had  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to 
welcome  the  late  arrival  with  a  deprecatory  effort  at 


THE  DUST  DAYS  239 

cordiality  and  to  introduce  him  to  three  or  four  young 
people  of  the  neighborhood  who  dropped  in  for  an  in 
formal  summer's  evening  chat. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  again,  Miss  Standish !  "  exclaimed 
Caleb,  heartily,  after  nodding  acknowledgement  to  the 
somewhat  cold  recognition  of  the  other  callers.  "  I've 
been  around  two  or  three  times.  But  you're  always 
out  when  I  call.  My  bad  luck.  But  I'm  goin'  to  keep 
on  callin'  just  the  same.  It's  lonesome  in  town  this 
summer.  Lonesomer,  seems  to  me,  than  it  ever  was 
before.  So  I'm  goin'  to  stroll  'round  here  kind  of 
often  if  you'll  let  me." 

He  had  taken  the  place  on  the  steps  momentarily 
vacated  by  a  youth  who  had  been  sitting  by  Letty  and 
who  had  risen  when  the  girl  introduced  Conover. 
Letty,  while  she  tried  to  murmur  something  gracious 
in  reply  to  his  remark,  found  herself  looking  at  his 
shadowy  form  in  abject  terror.  Even  through  the 
gloaming  his  light,  alert  eyes  seemed  to  seize  and  hold 
her  will.  The  hands  she  clasped  nervously  in  her  lap 
grew  cold  and  damp.  Her  nose  quivered  a  distress 
warning  that  the  cruel  darkness  rendered  of  no  avail. 

"  Been  up  to  the  Arareek  lately?  "  he  went  on. 

"  No.  Yes  —  I  —  not  very  lately,"  she  stam 
mered. 

"  Neither've  I,"  he  answered.  "  Too  hot  for  the 
walk.  When  it  gets  cooler  I'm  goin'. to  try  and  get 
there  ev'ry  week.  I  ought  to  go  out  more.  I'm 
beginning  to  see  that.  My  s'ciety  manners  are  gettin' 
rusty.  Fact  is,  I've  had  to  hustle  so  hard  all  my  life 


240  THE  FIGHTER 

I've  never  took  time  to  have  any  fun.  But  things  are 
shapin'  themselves  now  like  I  was  goin'  to  have  a 
chance  to  look  around  me  at  last.  Then  I  hope  I'll 
see  more  of  you,  Miss  Standish, —  a  good  deal  more," 
he  continued,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  rumble  that  ex 
cluded  the  rest  from  the  tete-a-tete. 

"I  —  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  faltered  the  poor  girl. 

"  So'll  I,"  he  agreed.  "  I'm  not  such  a  stoopid, 
nose-to-the-grindstone  feller  as  you  may  think,  Miss 
Standish.  I've  been  busy;  that's  all.  Now  that  the 
cash  is  runnin'  in,  I'm  goin'  to  enjoy  it;  an'  try  to  do 
more  in  s'ciety  than  I've  been  able  to,  so  far.  A  sin 
gle  man  don't  get  much  show  to  rise  in  the  social  back 
yard ;  not  without  he  has  tricks.  An'  I  haven't  any, — 
thank  the  Lord!  But  even  if  I  can't  get  a  lot  of 
popularity  for  myself,  why  — maybe  I  can  annex  some 
of  it  in  my  wife's  name." 

"Your  wife?"  she  interposed,  a  hope  breaking 
through  the  pall  of  misery  that  was  settling  over  her, 
"  I  didn't  know  you  were  — " 

"  Married  ?  I  ain't.  But  I  hope  to  be  before 
I'm  so  very  much  older.  Ev'ry  man  ought  to 
marry.  'Specially  a  man  with  my  money  an'  p'sition. 
I'm  able  to  support  a  wife,  better'n  any  other 
feller  you  know.  Don't  you  think  I'd  ought  to  get 
one?" 

The  girl's  dry  tongue  refused  its  office.  Conover 
went  on  in  the  same  loathed  undertone  of  confidence : 

"  I've  'bout  made  up  my  mind  on  that  point,  Miss 
Slandish.  An'  when  I  an'  the  young  lady  I  have  in 


THE  DUST  DAYS  241 

mind  gets  to  be  a  little  better  acquainted,  I  hope  she'll 
agree  with  me." 

"  Suppose,"  gasped  Letty,  for  once  righting  back 
the  tears,  "  suppose  the  girl  you  picked  out  happened 
to  be  in  love  with  someone  else?  Or  even,"  gasping 
again,  at  her  own  boldness,  "  even  engaged  to  someone 
else." 

"  I  don't  think  that'd  worry  me  so  very  much,"  he 
said  slowly,  bending  nearer  to  his  shrinking  hostess, 
"  I'm  in  the  habit  of  takin'  what  I  want.  An'  I  never 
yet  found  anyone  who  could  keep  me  from  doin'  it. 
That  sounds  like  a  brag.  But  it  ain't;  as  I  hope  I'll 
be  able  to  show  you  some  day." 

The  girl  rose,  shaking,  to  her  feet.  The  advent  of 
a  new  guest  alone  saved  her  from  fleeing  panic- 
stricken  to  her  room.  But  as  a  step  sounded  on  the 
walk  below,  she  paused  irresolute. 

"  Good  evening ! "  said  the  late  comer,  limping 
slightly  as  he  mounted  the  steps. 

At  his  voice  a  murmur  of  surprise  rippled  from  the 
others.  Letty  went  forward  to  welcome  him. 

"Why,  Mr.  Blacarda!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  didn't 
even  know  you  were  out  of  the  hospital.  I'm  so  glad 
to  see  you  again.  You  came  to  talk  to  Father,  of 
course.  I  can't  venture  to  hope  we  young  people  drew 
you  here.  I'll  have  him  sent  for,"  touching  the  door 
bell,  "  He's  in  his  study." 

As  a  servant  departed  in  search  of  Reuben  Stand- 
ish,  she  went  on ;  striving  by  words  to  drown  her  dull 
terror : 


242  THE  FIGHTER 

"  You  know  everyone  here,  I  think.  Except  per 
haps  —  have  you  ever  met  Mr.  Conover  ?  " 

Blacarda  halted  midway  in  a  step  forward,  and 
stood  uncertain,  gaping.  Caleb,  however,  was  charm 
ingly  at  his  ease. 

"Hello,  Blacarda!"  he  said  effusively,  "Hear 
you've  been  laid  up.  Too  bad!  What  was  it  that 
knocked  you  out?  " 

"  Nothing  that  deserves  mention  from  any  honest 
man,"  retorted  Blacarda,  his  voice  trembling  with  rage 
and  an  irresistible  fear. 

"As  bad  as  that?"  cried  Conover,  with  pleasant 
badinage,  "  Be  careful  to  keep  out  of  its  way  in  the 
future,  then,  son.  These  things  that  don't  '  deserve 
mention '  are  sometimes  apt  to  be  dangerous.  'Spe 
cially  when  you  get  a  second  attack  of  'em.  Hey?  " 

The  words,  blatantly  meaningless  to  all  save  Caine 
and  the  man  Caleb  addressed,  deprived  Blacarda  of 
speech.  The  injured  guest  had  an  insane  impulse  to 
run  away.  The  coarse  joviality  of  his  conqueror 
seemed  more  fraught  with  menace  than  an  open  threat 
would  have  been.  The  situation  was  saved  by  the  ar 
rival  of  Reuben  Standish.  The  banker  after  a  word 
of  recognition  to  Blacarda,  greeted  Caleb  with  a 
warmth  that  sent  ice  to  Letty's  heart.  Not  knowing 
that  her  father,  like  Caine,  was  also  gleaning  in  the 
Conover  field  (and  with  a  profit  that  bade  fair  to  re 
habilitate  the  crumbling  Standish  fortune),  the  girl 
read  in  his  cordiality  only  the  news  that  another  had 
fallen  under  the  master  sway  of  the  Fighter's  will. 


THE  DUST  DAYS  245 

In  the  confusion  of  several  guests'  simultaneous  de 
parture  Letty  found  a  chance  to  slip  away  to  her  own 
room.  Nor  did  she  reappear  until  the  sound  of  a 
loud  "  Goodnight !  "  and  the  crunch  of  heavy  feet  upon 
the  walk  told  her  that  Conover  had  at  last  gone.  On 
the  veranda  she  found  Caine  waiting  in  hope  of  an 
other  glimpse  of  her. 

"What  was  the  matter?"  he  asked,  solicitously, 
"  Why  did  you  run  away  from  us  all  ?  Conover 
waited  a  long  time,  hoping  you'd  come  back.  At  last 
I  told  him  you  had  a  sick  headache.  Then — " 

"  It  happened  to  be  true,"  she  answered  brokenly. 
"Oh,  Amzi,  I'm  so  miserable!  Why  did  that  man 
come  here?  I've  left  word  I'm  never  at  home  to 
him." 

"  Be  nice  to  him  for  my  sake,  won't  you,  darling?  " 
pleaded  Caine,  "  I  can't  explain.  But  I  —  need  him 
very  much  just  now.  I  can't  afford,  for  business  rea 
sons,  to  have  him  offended." 

"But  if  you  only  knew  — !"  she  cried;  "then 
stopped. 

"  Knew  what  ?  Tell  me,"  he  begged,  "  Is  anything 
troubling  you  ?  " 

The  formless  fear  she  sought  to  voice  died  on  her 
lips. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Nothing  at  all.  But  I'm  very 
tired.  Good  night." 

And  with  this  lachrymose  evasion  he  was  forced  to 
content  himself.  But  before  going  to  bed,  Letty,  as 
a  last  hope,  sought  out  her  father. 


J244  THE  FIGHTER 

"  I  wish,"  she  entreated,  nerving  herself  to  the 
effort,  "  I  wish  you  would  forbid  Mr.  Conover  the 
house.  I  —  I  hate  him.  I'm  afraid  of  him.  Oh, 
Father,  please  don't  let  him  come  here  any  more !  " 

Standish  looked  up  from  his  evening  paper  with  a 
frown  of  cold  displeasure. 

"  I  do  wish,  Letty,"  he  said  with  the  dry  little  cough 
that  nowadays  accompanied  his  every  sentence,  "  that 
you  would  learn  self  control.  You  are  not  a  baby 
any  longer.  These  childish  prejudices  of  yours  are 
absurd.  Mr.  Conover  is  —  very  useful  to  me  —  and 
to  the  bank, —  just  at  present.  Out  of  deference  to 
me,  you  will  please  treat  him  with  courtesy  whenever 
he  chances  to  call !  " 

But  Letty,  weeping  uncontrollably,  had  run  from 
the  room.  She  felt  herself  helplessly  enmeshed  in  a 
net  whose  cords  her  best-loved  were  drawing  tighter 
and  tighter  about  her.. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CALEB    CONOVER    GIVES   A    READING   LESSON 

Conover,  during  the  month  that  followed,  found 
time  from  his  financial  warfare  to  make  three  more 
calls  at  the  Standish  house.  The  soft-hearted  Divin 
ity  of  children  and  fools  was  merciful  to  Letty  on 
those  occasions,  inasmuch  as  there  were  each  time 
other  guests  on  the  dusky  piazza  The  girl  thus 
avoided  intimate  talk  of  any  long  duration  with  her 
giant  visitor.  Yet  she  noted  with  helpless  dread  that 
at  every  successive  visit  the  Fighter's  manner  told 
more  and  more  of  a  subtle  understanding  between 
them;  of  an  increasing  sense  of  possession.  Wildly, 
impotently  Letty  resented  this.  But  she  watched  its 
growth  with  a  dazed  fascination. 

By  turns  she  clung  to  Caine  in  a  mad  craving  for 
protection;  or  repulsed  him  with  pettish  impatience  as 
a  defense  which  she  instinctively  felt  would  not  be 
strong  enough  to  guard  her  when  her  hour  of  stark 
need  should  come. 

More  than  once  it  occurred  to  Letty  to  tell  Caine  all 
her  fears.  But,  stripped  of  woman's  formless,  illog 
ical  intuition,  what  was  there  to  tell?  She  had  no 
shadow  of  actual  fact  to  go  on;  and  men  demand 
facts.  So  she  continued  to  puzzle  her  lover  by  alter- 

245 


246  THE  FIGHTER 

nate  spells  of  effusive  demonstration  and  chilling  sulks. 
The  ever-ready  tears,  too,  began  to  leave  marks. 
She  was  not  looking  her  best.  In  her  lonely  misery 
the  girl  was  glad  of  this.  She  wished  Conover  would 
call  by  daylight  instead  of  at  night,  so  that  he  might 
see  and  be  repelled  by  what  she  was  pleased  to  term 
the  "  ravages  "  his  attentions  were  wreaking  on  her 
once  placid  face.  Caine  and  her  father,  it  is  true,  gave 
most  flattering  heed  to  these  "  ravages  " ;  but  heart 
lessly  ascribed  them  to  hot  weather  and  need  of  change 
to  the  country. 

Mrs.  Standish's  vitreous  gaze,  too,  mingled  a 
mild  curiosity  with  its  irritating  benevolence.  Once 
she  asked  Letty  quite  tactfully  if  the  engagement  with 
Caine  were  not  perhaps  a  mistake  and  if  the  girl  might 
not  be  in  danger  of  blighting  her  God-given  young 
life  by  a  loveless  marriage.  To  which  random  shot 
Letty  paid  the  passing  tribute  of  a  flood  of  tears  that 
convinced  Mrs.  Standish  of  her  own  spiritual  inspira 
tion  in  putting  the  question.  The  net  result  of  it  all 
was  that  Letty  and  her  aunt  were  packed  off,  with 
Clive,  to  the  seaside  for  a  month. 

Miss  Standish's  departure  did  not  greatly  trouble 
Caleb.  He  himself  was  nearing  the  beginning  of  his 
much  heralded  "  first  vacation."  Indeed,  Caine,  com 
ing  disconsolately  to  the  Fighter's  room,  one  evening, 
just  after  seeing  Letty 's  train  off,  found  Conover  sit 
ting  on  the  floor  beside  an  open  trunk.  A  mass  of 
clothing,  also  on  the  floor,  radiated  away  from  the 


A  READING  LESSON  247 

trunk  on  every  side.  Perspiring,  red  of  face,  Caleb 
was  reaching  out  methodically  for  garments,  folding 
them  with  slow  care  of  the  self-made  man  and  stow 
ing  them  away  in  fast-rising  layers  in  the  leathern 
maw  that  gaped  so  hungrily  for  them. 

"  I've  just  come  from  seeing  Miss  Standish  and  her 
aunt  off  to  Block  Island,"  announced  Caine,  routing  a 
pile  of  clothes  from  a  chair  and  seating  himself. 

"  Block  Island,  hey  ?  "  said  Caleb,  "  Anything  like 
Coney?" 

"  No,"  laughed  Caine,  "  nor  like  any  other  place  on 
earth.  A  treeless  plateau  above  the  ocean.  Ugly  at 
first  glance,  but  with  a  hundred-year-old  charm  that 
somehow  grips  one.  Sea,  sunshine  and  wind ;  and  the 
eternal  roar  of  the  surf." 

"  H'm !  "  grunted  Caleb,  disapprovingly,  "  Nice, 
lively  sort  of  a  joint  for  a  busy  man  to  go  lookin'  for 
fun !  'Bout  as  jolly  as  its  own  jail,  I  should  think." 

"  It  has  no  jail,"  retorted  Caine,  "  No  jail,  no 
almshouse,  no  asylum.  There  hasn't  been  a  criminal, 
nor  a  pauper,  nor  an  insane  person  on  the  whole  island 
in  a  century.  There  is  only  one  policeman  —  or  was 
when  I  used  to  go  there.  And  he  used  to  take  turns 
serving  as  driver  of  one  of  the  Island's  two  horse- 
cars.  There's  a  historic  yoke  of  oxen,  too,  that  — " 

"  Not  a  jail  —  or  a  crime —  or  an  institootion  of 
any  sort  ?  "  cried  Conover.  "  Son,  you're  stringin' 
me!  What  do  the  local  pol'ticians  do  for  a  livin', 
then?  If  Noo  York's  a  paradise  for  grafters,  this 


248  THE  FIGHTER 

Block  Island  of  yours  must  be  a  hell  for  'em.  Ain't 
anyone  ever  waked  up  there  to  the  chances  that's 
layin'  around  waitin'  to  be  took  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  that  way  when  you  see  the  Standishes 
again,"  counseled  Caine,  "  Mrs.  Standish  looks  on 
Block  Island  as  part  of  her  religion.  She  — " 

"  Yes,"  grinned  Caleb.  "  I  s'pose  so.  I  can  see  the 
old  lady  doin'  saint-poses  on  the  sand  there." 

"  All  her  attitudes  are  beatitudes,"  agreed  Caine. 
But  as  far  as  concerned  Conover's  comprehension,  he 
might  as  well  have  said  it  in  Greek. 

"  By  the  way,"  went  on  Amzi,  "  I  have  some  fairly 
sure  information  from  our  political  reporter  that 
ought  to  interest  both  of  us.  It's  about  Blacarda." 

"If  you  mean  Blacarda's  got  next  to  the  Gov'nor 
and  arranged  a  special  session  of  Legislature  in  Sep 
tember,"  interposed  Caleb,  "  I  knew  that  a  week  ago. 
The  Starke  bill's  to  be  flashed  on  'em  in  a  new  form, 
without  our  gettin'  wind  of  it,  an'  it's  to  be  rushed 
through,  with  an  idea  of  knockin'  our  Steeloid  com 
bine  flatter'n  a  pancake." 

"  You  knew  all  this  a  week  ago  ?  Why  didn't 
you—?" 

"  It's  my  business  to  know  things,"  replied  Con- 
over,  "  If  I  didn't,  I'd  be  takin'  orders  still,  instead 
of  givin'  'em.  As  for  not  tellin'  you,  what  was  the 
use?  You'd  a'  found  it  out  soon  enough;  an*  I've 
been  too  busy  to  run  an  inf'mation  bureau.  I'll  be 
ready  for  Friend  Blacarda  an'  his  crowd  when  the 


A  READING  LESSON  249 

time  comes;  same's  I  was  before.  Just  because  I 
don't  hire  a  brass  band  to  p'rade  the  streets  carryin'  a 
placard  of  my  plans,  you  mustn't  run  away  with  the 
idee  that  I'm  overlookin'  any  bets.  I've  got  every 
thing  in  line.  We'll  win  out,  same  as  we  did  last 
Spring;  an'  by  a  bigger  margin." 

"  But  you  may  be  detained  as  you  were  before. 
And  next  time  you  may  not  get  back  soon  enough. 
Blacarda  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  keep  you  away. 
He  knows  by  now, —  as  we  all  do, —  that  you  weren't 
boasting  when  you  said  your  presence  in  the  lobby 
meant  all  the  difference  between  defeat  and  victory." 

"That's  right,"  said  Caleb,  gently  flattered,  "But 
I'll  be  on  deck.  It's  a  way  I've  got.  There's  always 
a  bunch  of  weak-spined  chaps  in  our  crowd  in  the 
Assembly  that's  so  scared  at  reform  threats  an'  all 
such  rot  that  they're  ready  to  stampede  if  I'm  not  on 
hand  to  hammer  the  fear  of  the  Lord  into  'em.  An' 
that  same  crowd's  still  big  enough  to  turn  the  vote 
if  they  bolt  to  cover.  But  they  won't.  I'll  be 
there.  Blacarda  ain't  likely  to  play  the  same  game 
twice.  Apart  from  its  bein'  useless,  he's  too  scared. 
An'  there's  not  another  trick  in  all  the  pack  that  can 
get  past  my  handy  little  bunch  of  secret  service  men." 

"  But  if  the  bill  should  pass — " 

"  It  ain't  goin'  to.  How  often  have  I  got  to  ding 
that  into  your  head?  It  ain't  goin'  to." 

"  Perhaps  I'm  over-anxious,"  Caine  defended  him 
self,  "  But  you  must  remember,  practically  all  my 


250  THE  FIGHTER 

money  is  in  Steeloid.  On  your  recommendation  I 
have  put  every  available  dollar  in  it.  So  have  Stan- 
dish  and  a  half  dozen  others  I  know." 

"  Then  lay  back  an'  be  happy,"  advised  Conover, 
"  After  that  bill  is  smashed  an'  the  public  sees  Steeloid 
is  on  the  ground  to  stay,  the  stock'll  take  another  big 
hop.  If  you  an'  Standish  an'  the  others  have  a  few 
thousands  to  use  in  buyin'  on  margin  you'll  clean  up 
a  good  lookin'  pile.  I've  got  other  deals  on  now  that 
make  Steeloid  look  like  thirty  cents.  So  I  ain't  lyin' 
awake  worryin'  on  my  own  account.  It's  as  much  for 
you  fellers  as  for  myself  that  I'm  goin'  to  get  down  to 
work  on  the  Blacarda  matter,  as  soon  as  I  come  back 
from  my  vacation.  It'll  mean  a  week  or  two  of  big 
work,  on  the  quiet.  Then  the  bill's  comin'  up  an' — 
goin'  down  for  keeps." 

"  You're  awfully  good  to  give  us  these  tips,"  said 
Caine  "And  we  all  appreciate  it.  But  aren't  you 
afraid  Blacarda  may  attack  some  other  interests  of 
yours  as  well  as  Steeloid?  He  hates  you;  and  he  is 
not  the  sort  of  a  man  to  confine  himself  to  a  single  line 
of  revenge." 

"  There's  where  you're  wrong,  son,"  answered  Con- 
over,  "  The  trouble  with  you  people  is,  you  get  all 
your  learnin'  from  books  wrote  by  other  folks  as 
stoopid  as  yourselves.  The  thing  to  study  ain't  a 
book.  It's  your  feller-man.  Then  there'd  be  fewer 
folks  took  in  by  gold-brick  games.  Look  at  me,  now, 
f'r  instance.  I  never  read  a  book  clear  through  in  my 
life.  But  there  ain't  a  man  of  my  'quaintance  I 


A  READING  LESSON  251 

haven't  read  through.  So,  they're  as  easy  for  me  to 
read  as  a  primer.  Now,  you  look  at  Blacarda  as  a 
sort  of  man  who's  li'ble  to  attack  me  from  a  dozen 
sides  at  once.  That's  'cause  you  can't  read  him.  I 
can.  An'  I  know  what  he's  li'ble  to  do  an'  what  he 
ain't.  Blacarda  b'longs  to  the  King  Cobra  class. 
Harmless  as  a  kitten  to  them  that  knows  where  his 
poison's  hid,  an'  only  dang'rous  to  folks  that  picks 
him  up  by  the  wrong  end." 

Caleb,  warming  to  his  theme,  leaned  back  against 
the  corner  of  the  table  and  laid  down  the  coat  he  was 
folding. 

"  Men  who  read  men,"  said  he,  oracularly,  "  rule 
men.  Men  who  read  books  are  ruled  by  the  folks 
who  wrote  them.  That's  the  diff'rence.  Let  me  ex 
plain  what  I  mean  by  what  I  said  'bout  cobras.  I  had 
to  run  down  to  Noo  York  last  fall  on  business.  I  had 
a  couple  of  hours  on  my  hands  an'  I  went  up  for  a 
look  at  the  Bronx  Zoo,  there.  I  went  into  a  squat, 
Dago-lookin'  joint  called  the  'Rept'l  House.'  Full 
of  snakes  and  crawly,  slimy  things.  Big  crowd  in 
front  of  one  glass  cage.  Only  snake  in  that  cage  was 
a  big,  long,  brown  critter  with  an  eye  that  wa'nt  good 
to  look  at.  The  sign  said  he  was  a  King  Cobra  an' 
habitated  somewhere  or  other.  The  attendant  wanted 
to  wash  the  winders  of  that  cage  from  the  inside. 
What  does  he  do?  Does  he  put  his  arms  in  an'  wig 
gle  a  mop  within  reach  qf  Mister  King  Cobra?  Not 
him.  He,  or  his  boss,  I  guess,  had  learned  to  read 
snakes  like  I  read  men.  What  does  he  do  ?  He  slaps 


252  THE  FIGHTER 

open  a  little  door  in  the  back  of  the  cage,  slings  in  a 
two- foot  black  snake  an'  slams  shut  the  door,  quicker'n 
scat,  before  the  Cobra  knows  what's  up.  There  lays 
the  little  black  snake  wrigglin',  scared  like,  on  the 
floor  of  the  cage  among  a  lot  of  little  red  lizards  that's 
runnin'  'round  in  the  sand. 

"  The  King  Cobra  lifts  up  till  his  head's  about  six 
foot  above  ground,  an'  he  looks  down  at  the  wrigglin' 
black  snake,  like  he  was  sizin'  up  whether  the  little 
feller  has  any  fight  in  him  or  not.  An'  say !  It  was 
'nough  to  give  a  feller  the  creeps  to  see  that  cobra- 
snake's  eye  as  he  watched  'tother.  Then,  he  seems 
to  make  up  his  mind  the  black  snake  ain't  bent  on 
c'mittin'  sooside  by  beginnin'  the  fight.  So  down 
swoops  the  King  Cobra  with  a  sort  of  rustly,  swishin' 
rush;  an'  he  grabs  the  little  snake  around  the  middle. 
No  —  not  by  the  head  or  tail.  He's  more  mad  than 
hungry.  So  he  grabs  him  by  the  middle.  An'  he 
hangs  on. 

"  Now  what  does  the  attendant  do  ?  He  opens  the 
door  at  the  back,  kneels  on  the  threshold,  leanin'  out 
right  above  the  King  Cobra,  an'  ca'mly  begins  washin' 
the  winders  with  his  long  mop.  Ev'ry  swipe  that  man 
makes  at  the  glass,  his  hand  comes  within  a  foot  of 
the  Cobra.  But  he  didn't  even  look  at  the  big,  pizen- 
ous  brute  coiled  up  there  below  his  hand.  He  goes 
on  washin'  the  winder  like  there  wasn't  a  snake  within 
ten  miles." 

"  But,"  asked  Caine,  interested  in  spite  of  himself, 


A  READING  LESSON  253 

"  there  was  surely  danger  that  the  Cobra  might  drop 
the  little  snake  and  strike  at  the  man?  If  - 

"  That's  just  the  point !  "  cried  Caleb,  "  He  wouldn't. 
His  pizen  an'  his  temper  was  otherwise  engaged. 
He'd  sunk  his  fangs  into  one  en'my.  An'  it  ain't 
cobra  natur'  to  let  go,  once  he's  got  his  grip.  I  found 
that  out  by  askin'  one  of  the  keepers.  The  man  with 
the  mop  was  as  safe  in  that  cage,  just  then,  as  he'd  a' 
been  in  a  Meth'dist  Conf'rence.  The  Cobra  had  just 
one  idee.  An'  that  idee  was  already  on  the  job. 

"  Now,  maybe  you're  wonderin'  what  this  long  yarn 
has  to  do  with  Blacarda.  It  has  ev'rything  to  do  with 
him.  He's  the  King  Cobra  sort,  if  ever  any  man  was. 
An'  in  his  case,  I'm  the  man  with  the  mop.  Bla- 
carda's  fitted  out  with  a  whole  lot  of  fancy  venom. 
An'  he'd  like  nothin'  better'n  to  get  his  fangs  in  me. 
I  can't  say  I  exac'ly  blame  him.  But  I  ain't  hankerin' 
to  get  bit.  So  I  throws  into  his  cage  a  little  snake 
called  '  Steeloid'.  An  he  nabs  it.  So  long's  he's 
got  his  teeth  in  that,  he  ain't  got  the  bigness  of  mind 
to  bite  anything  else.  When  Steeloid's  over,  I'll  toss 
him  another  little  snake,  an'  so  on  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  He'll  keep  gnawin'  away,  with  the  idee  he's 
hurtin'  me  terr'ble.  An'  I'll  go  'bout  my  winder- 
washin'  bus'ness  meanwhile;  knowin'  he's  too  much 
took  up  with  his  little  snake  to  do  me  any  hurt.  Why, 
son,  'twas  one  of  my  men  that  put  Blacarda  up  to 
this  scheme  of  gettin'  a  Special  Session  called  vso  he 
could  knock  my  Steeloid  Comp'ny  out." 


254  THE  FIGHTER 

Caine  made  no  reply;  but  watched  Caleb  mop  the 
perspiration  of  unwonted  verbosity  from  his  forehead. 
At  last  he  asked,  with  his  bantering  smile: 

"  Have  you  read  me,  by  any  chance?  " 

"  Have  I  read  my  A.  B.  C.  ?  "  retorted  Caleb  in  fine 
contempt. 

"But—" 

"  I'm  not  buyin'  a  red  can'py  an'  givin'  two-dollar 
character  readin's,"  said  Conover  brusquely,  "  Ever 
in  the  Adirondacks?  Anything  to  do  there?  " 

"  Plenty  —  for  the  man  who  can  appreciate  its 
glories,"  retorted  Caine  with  pleasant  insolence,  "Very 
little  for  a  man  of  your  type,  I  should  fancy.  Why  ?  " 

"  I  hoped  maybe  you  could  put  me  on  to  some  of  the 
pointers,"  answered  Caleb.  "  It's  the  first  vacation 
I  ever  had.  An'  I  want  all  the  fun  out  of  it  I  can  get. 
But  I'm  blest  if  I  know  where  the  fun  comes  in." 

"  A  ward  heeler  would  probably  regard  a  Corot  in 
much  the  same  way,"  observed  Caine,  still  inwardly 
smarting  at  the  Fighter's  good  natured  contempt, 
"  But  surely  Miss  Shevlin  must  have  told  you  in  some 
of  her  letters  the  sort  of  life  they  lead  there  —  some 
thing  of  her  amusements?  You  can  probably  get  a 
better  idea  of  it  all  from  her  letters  than  from  any 
thing  I  could  tell  you.  Doesn't  she — ?  " 

"  Oh,  ev'ry  letter  she  writes  is  full  of  it,"  acquiesced 
Caleb,  gloomily,  "  But  I  can't  make  out  what  the 
good  times  are.  Just  listen  to  this,  f'r  instance. 
First  letter  I  had  from  her.  No.  The  second." 

From  a  drawer  he  drew  a  small  metal  case,  un- 


A  READING  LESSON  255 

locked  and  opened  it.  It  was  full  of  letters.  Each 
envelope  that  met  Caine's  inquisitive  eye  bore  Desiree 
Shevlin's  handwriting.  Selecting  one  from  the  bud 
get,  Caleb  opened  it  with  a  strangely  gentle  motion 
of  his  stubby  fingers,  glanced  in  silence  over  a  few 
lines,  then  read  aloud: 

"  *  It's  like  some  wonderful  dream ;  and  every  day 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  wake  up  and  find  it  isn't  so.  The  air 
is  like  crystal  that  has  been  dipped  in  balsam.'  Why 
in  blazes,"  interpolated  Conover,  in  perplexity, 
"  should  anybody  want  to  dip  crystal  in  balsam.  I 
can't—" 

"  Go  on,"  adjured  Caine,  "  I  understand." 
"  '  I  feel  as  if  I  were  on  the  top  of  the  world,"  pur 
sued  the  letter,  "  '  The  sky  is  so  big,  so  near.  And  it 
seems  to  rest  on  the  crests  of  these  splendid  old 
mountains.  The  Antlers  is  on  a  side  hill,  partly 
cleared  of  forest  and  running  down  to  Raquette  Lake. 
The  hotel  is  white  and  it's  on  the  top  of  the  slope. 
It's  a  nice  hotel,  they  say.  I've  only  been  in  it  twice. 
Almost  nobody  is  ever  indoors  except  at  night  or  when 
it  rains.  And  most  of  the  people  don't  live  at  the  hotel 
itself.  They  live  in  the  cottages  and  lodges  and  tents ; 
and  eat  in  the  two  big  dining  rooms  that  are  houses 
by  themselves.  It's  the  outdoorest  place  I  ever  saw. 
We  row  and  fish  and  tramp  and  swim  and  loaf  all  day, 
and  go  on  picnics.  And  late  in  the  afternoons  there's 
a  regular  fleet  of  boats  that  put  out  into  the  lake  to 
watch  the  sunset.  *  The  Sunset  Fleet,'  I  call  them. 
And  in  the  evenings  we  go  to  the  open  camps  and  lie 


256  THE  FIGHTER 

back  among  the  balsam  boughs  and  watch  the  big  camp 
fires  and  tell  stories  and  sing  college  songs.  And  some 
times  we  coax  Ed  Bennett  to  come  down  to  the  camp 
with  his  violin  and  give  us  '  The  Arkansaw  Traveler' 
or  tell  us  one  of  his  stories.  He  has  the  vocabulary 
of  a  college  professor.  He  knows  all  the  Adirondack 
books,  and  he  reads  us  chapters  from  them. 

"  And  by  ten  o'clock,  generally,  everybody  is  in  bed, 
sleeping  as  no  one  can  sleep  in  town.  One  man  in  a 
tent  left  his  mouth  open  when  he  went  to  sleep  the  other 
night,  and  made  funny  V-shaped  noises  that  got  all 
three  of  the  dogs  to  barking  and  waked  everybody  up. 
There's  the  loveliest  collie  here.  His  name  is  Rex. 
He  has  adopted  me  and  goes  everywhere  with  me. 
Sometimes  even  when  I  haven't  any  candy  to  give  him. 
I  wanted  to  buy  him  and  take  him  home.  But  Mr. 
Bennett, —  not  Ed,  but  his  brother,  the  proprietor, — 
won't  sell  him  for  any  price.  Isn't  it  horrid?  Rex 
and  Siegfried-Mickey  would  get  on  beautifully  to 
gether,  I  know.  And  their  color  schemes  harmonize 
so  perfectly. 

"  And  —  Oh,  I  forgot !  — there's  a  yellow  kitten 
here,  too,  that's  made  friends  with  me.  And  what 
do  you  suppose  one  of  the  boys  did  the  other  evening? 
We  had  a  welsh-rarebit  party  at  the  open  camp,  and 
he  poured  beer  all  over  the  yellow  kitten's  fur,  just 
before  we  went  away.  And  of  course,  cat-like,  she 
licked  it  all  off.  And  she  came  bounding  into  my 
room  ten  minutes  later  in  a  perfectly  scandalous  con- 


A  READING  LESSON  257 

dition.  The  beer  she  had  licked  up  from  her  fur  had 
gone  to  the  poor  little  thing's  head.  Her  eyes  were 
as  big  as  saucers  and  she  purred  all  the  time  like  a 
wagon-ful  of  rattly  steel  rails.  And  she  went  danc 
ing  'round  in  circles  on  three  legs  and  trying  to  climb 
the  wall;  till  she  fell  asleep  in  my  waste  basket. 
Wasn't  it  a  shame  ?  I'm  sorry  I  laughed.  But  she  did 
look  so  weird.  And  her  fur  smelt  so  horribly  of  beer 
that  I  couldn't  pick  her  up  and  try  to  reason  with  her. 
Next  day  she  was  the  living  picture  of  remorse.  I 
got  her  some  ice  to  lap  and  put  a  blue  ribbon  on  her. 

"  '  I  know  you'll  love  the  Adirondacks.  Just  think ! 
In  six  weeks  and  two  days  you'll  be  here.  By  the 
way,  you  must  remember  not  to  speak  of  coming  *  up  ' 
to  the  Adirondacks,  or  going  down  from  them.  No 
body  does.  They  all  speak  of  coming  '  in '  and  going 
'  out '.  I  don't  know  why.  Neither  does  anyone  I 
ask.  Perhaps  that's  the  reason.  I'm  saving  all  the 
beautifulest  places  to  show  you.  The  prettiest  rows, 
the  wildest  trails.  Perhaps  we  can  see  a  deer. 
Wouldn't  it  be  fun?  I  do  so  want  to  see  one  before  I 
go.  And  we'll  climb  Blue  Mountain  and  make  the 
trip  through  the  chain  of  lakes,  too.  Can't  you  come 
earlier  than  you  planned?  I  hate  to  think  you're 
missing  all  this  glorious  time." 

"  An'  a  lot  of  the  same  sort,"  added  Caleb,  folding 
and  putting  away  the  letter  with  unconcious  tender 
ness,  "  Writes  dandy  letters,  don't  she  ?  But  it  don't 
make  sense  to  me.  So  far's  I  can  see,  there's  nothin' 


258  THE  FIGHTER 

to  do  but  get  cats  drunk  and  watch  camp  fires  an' 
get  all  het  up  by  rowin'  an'  climbin'  hills.  Where's 
the  fun  in  all  that  for  a  grown  man?  " 

"  Miss    Shevlin   will   be   there,"    suggested   Caine. 

"  Course  she  will,"  said  Caleb,  "  Otherwise,  d'you 
s'pose  I'd  waste  my  time  goin'  ?  I  wonder  how  I  was 
ever  jollied  into  promisin'." 

"  Conover,"  remarked  Caine,  rising  to  leave, 
'  You  may  have  spent  a  long  time  learning  to  read 
men;  but  what  you  don't  know  about  women  —  and 
about  yourself,  for  that  matter  —  would  fill  a  Car 
negie  Library.  Good  night." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON    THE   TOP   OF   THE    WORLD 

Conover  woke  from  a  quaint  dream  of  being  buried 
alive  in  an  ill-fitting  coffin.  And  dawning  conscious 
ness  proved  the  dream  to  have  been  but  a  mild  ex 
aggeration.  For  he  was  ensconced  in  a  sleeping  car 
berth.  Gray  light  was  peeping  through  the  lowered 
shade.  Much-breathed  air,  mingled  with  black  dust 
pressed  down  upon  the  Fighter's  lungs.  From  a 
nearby  section  came  the  fretful  whine  of  a  baby.  The 
stiff  berth-curtains  swished  awkwardly  inward  and 
out,  to  the  swing  of  the  car. 

Caleb  performed,  with  ease  born  of  long  practise, 
that  contortionist  feat  known  as  "  Dressing  in  the 
berth."  Then,  scrambling  out,  he  lurched  down  the 
narrow,  dark  aisle  toward  the  washroom  at  the  rear. 
The  place  was  already  full  of  half -clad,  red-eyed, 
touseled  men.  Some  were  washing,  others  painfully 
scraping  lather  from  their  jaws  with  safety  razors; 
still  others  ransacking  bag  or  suit  case  for  clean  linen. 
One  early  bird  had  completed  his  toilet  and  was  loung 
ing  in  a  leather-and-wicker  chair,  trying  to  translate 
a  pink  time  table;  meanwhile  industriously  filling  the 
semi-airtight  compartment  with  cigarette  smoke. 

Conover    surveyed    his    taciturn    fellow    sufferers; 

259 


26o  THE  FIGHTER 

glanced  over  the  too-populous  room,  from  the  rack- 
frieze  of  neatly  triangular  folded  towels  to  the  ash- 
and-cuspidor  strewn  carpet;  then  he  slouched  out  into 
the  relatively  fresh  air  of  the  aisle.  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  The  hour  was  six-thirty.  At  seven  they 
were  due  at  Raquette  Lake  station.  The  car  was  last 
of  the  train.  It  occurred  to  Caleb  to  take  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  Adirondacks.  He  walked  to  tfoe  rear 
door  and  looked  out. 

Behind  him  wound  the  single  track  of  the  little  spur 
road.  On  either  side  it  was  lined  by  dark  ever-greens 
that  stretched  away  in  an  endless  vista  of  monochrone 
until  the  silver  mist  that  hung  low  over  everything 
blotted  them  from  vision.  The  train  seemed  to  be 
ploughing  its  way  straight  into  the  untrodden  wilder 
ness;  to  be  the  first  alien  that  ever  had  intruded  upon 
the  vast  mystic  solitudes  of  green  and  gray. 

Caleb  looked  long  and  without  stirring.  Then  as 
the  negro  porter  chanced  to  come  near,  the  watch 
er's  pent  up  volume  of  emotion  found  vent  in  one 
pregnant  sentence: 

"  Here,  you !  "he  hailed.  "  I'll  give  you  a  dollar 
if  you  can  rustle  me  a  cup;  of  hot  coffee !  " 

Out  into  the  clinging  mist,  onto  a  long  wooden 
platform,  tumbled  the  travelers;  Caleb  in  the  first 
rank.  There,  drawn  up  to  halt  their  onset,  comic 
opera  chorus-like,  were  ranged  the  vociferating  sta 
tion  clerks  of  the  lake's  various  hotel-camps.  A 
breath  of  keen  balsam-tinged  air  bit  to  Cooover's 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD        261 

very  lungs.  Instinctively  he  threw  out  his  chest  drink 
ing  in  great  gulps  of  strange  ozone.  From  out  of 
the  swirling  mist  before  him  rose  of  a  sudden  a 
slight,  girlish  figure  that  ran  forward  with  a  glad 
little  cry  and  caught  both  his  hands. 

"Oh,  you're  here!  You're  here!"  rejoiced  De- 
siree,  careless  of  bystanders.  "  Mrs.  Hawarden  said 
I'd  catch  my  death  if  I  was  on  the  lake  so  early.  But 
I  got  up  at  the  screech  of  dawn,  and  came.  Isn't  it  all 
wonderful?  This  mist  will  burn  up  in  a  little  while 
and  then  you'll  see!  And  do  Billy  and  Aunt  Mary 
still  like  farm  life?  Oh,  it's  so  good  —  so  good  — 
to  see  you!  Come.  The  Antlers  launch  is  around 
the  other  side  of  the  station." 

Clinging  gleefully  to  one  of  his  big  arms,  the  girl 
piloted  him  through  the  scurrying  groups  and  the  lug 
gage  heaps,  to  a  nearby  dock  where  a  half-score  of 
waiting  launches  panted.  From  one  of  the  largest 
fluttered  a  dark  blue  flag  with  the  name  "  Antlers  " 
picked  out  on  it  in  white.  Into  the  launch  they  piled ; 
Desiree  still  talking  in  pretty,  eager  excitement. 

"  This  is  the  south  end  of  the  lake,"  she  was  ex 
plaining.  "  There's  the  store  over  yonder  —  that 
farthest  red  building  —  and  there's  the  Raquette  Lake 
House.  We  had  a  dance  there  one  night.  And  out 
there — "  with  a  wave  toward  the  wall  of  shining 
vapor,  "  is  where  we're  going.  It's  only  a  mile. 
We'll  start  as  soon  as  the  rest  can  get  aboard.  Oh,  I 
wish  the  mist  was  gone,  so  you  could  see  the  islands, 
and  old  Blue  Mountain  keeping  guard  over — " 


262  THE  FIGHTER 

"  It's  pretty  damp  on  the  water  for  you,  ain't  it?  " 
he  interrupted,  drawing  her  mackintosh  closer  about 
her  shoulders.  "  This  fog's  wet." 

"  Nobody  ever  catches  cold,  up  here  on  the  top  of 
the  world !  "  she  disclaimed.  "  And  it  isn't  fog.  It's 
just  a  little  mountain  mist.  In  another  half  hour  it 
will  rise." 

"  Just  the  same,"  he  argued,  "  I  wish  you  had  come 
in  a  carriage,  instead  of  bein'  on  the  water  so  early." 

"  A  carriage !  "  she  scoffed  merrily.  "  Where  do 
you  think  you  are?  These,"  pointing  to  the  docked 
rowboats,  canoes  and  launches  clustering  about  them, 
"  are  the  '  carriages  '  of  the  Adirondacks.  Why,  ex 
cept  for  the  white  trunk-chariot  steed  at  the  Antlers, 
there  probably  isn't  a  horse  within  three  miles  of  here. 
It's  Venice  all  over  again,  in  that.  Aren't  you  at  all 
glad  to  see  me  ?  "  she  continued,  dropping  her  voice 
and  noting  the  man's  puzzled,  unenthusiastic  mien. 
For  an  instant,  some  of  the  happy  light  ebbed  in  the 
eyes  that  had  been  so  brimful  of  joyous  welcome. 

Caleb  roused  himself  with  an  impatient  shake  at  his 
own  seeming  apathy. 

"Glad  to  see  you!"  he  echoed.  "Glad?  Well, 
say,  you  little  girl,  it's  the  gladdest  thing  that's  hap 
pened  to  me  since  the  day  you  left  Granite.  An'  I'd 
be  just  as  glad  even  if  it  was  in  some  worse  place  than 
a  wet  boat  all  stalled  up  with  mist.  Gee!  But  the 
tan  makes  you  look  prettier'n  a  whole  picture  album!  " 

"  Mrs.  Hawarden  says  my  hands  are  disgracefully 
brown,"  said  Desiree,  the  happiness  running  back  to 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD        263 

her  eyes  at  his  rough  praise.  "  And  my  face  is  as 
black  as  an  Arab's,  I  suppose." 

"  It's  the  prettiest  between  here  an'  Granite,  all 
right,"  he  declared  stoutly.  "  Here,  let  me  pull  that 
sweater  thing  higher  up  around  your  throat.  What 
a  funny  little  kid  face  you've  got,  anyhow,  Dey !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  frank  delight.  The  girl's 
head  was  bare ;  the  mist  clinging  like  frost  crystals  to 
her  shimmering  aura  of  hair.  Out  of  a  flushed, 
bronzed  countenance  glowed  the  wide,  childlike  eyes 
that  Caleb  had  once  declared  were  two  sizes  too  big 
for  her  face  —  and  in  whose  depths  Caine  had  more 
poetically  located  "  twin  springs  of  hidden  laughter." 

It  was  good  to  see  her.  And  the  man's  business 
cares,  his  social  plans,  his  matrimonial  campaign  itself, 
faded  into  nothingness.  He  was  here,  by  her  side. 
That  was  enough.  And  doubly  he  realized  how  poign 
ant  had  been  the  ache  of  alone-ness  at  his  heart,  dur 
ing  every  day  of  her  absence.  There  was  a  new  peace, 
an  utter  content,  that  enwrapped  him  now  that  he  was 
once  more  beside  her.  He  did  not  try  to  analyze  the 
emotion.  But  he  knew  it  mastered  him  as  nothing 
else  had  ever  done.  He  knew  it ;  and,  satisfied  to  look 
no  farther  ahead,  he  was  glad. 

The  launch  had  churned  clear  of  the  dock  and  was 
beating  to  northward  through  the  mist  barrier.  Shad 
owy  shores  slipped  past  them.  To  their  left,  out  of  the 
fog,  loomed  the  boathouse  of  a  camp.  Beyond  its 
float  men  and  girls  in  shiny  bathing  suits  were  splash 
ing  about  in  the  water.  Caleb  trailed  his  hand  orer 


264  THE  FIGHTER 

the  launch  side.  At  the  nip  of  the  icy  water  he  ac 
corded  the  swimmers  such  a  glance  as  he  might  have 
bestowed  on  the  martyrs  of  old. 

A  wind  danced  down  from  the  north,  playfully 
tearing  the  lake  vapors  to  silver  tatters.  A  lance  of 
white  sunlight  struck  through  the  flying  mist-reek. 
Out  of  the  obscurity  leaped  an  island;  emerald  green, 
sparkling  with  diamonds  of  moisture.  Then  another, 
and  another.  The  mainland's  vague  shores  took  shape 
and  beauty.  Broad  reaches  of  water  flashed  azure  and 
pale  gold  under  the  swift  caress  of  wind  and  sun. 

"  See !  "  cried  Desiree.     "  Isn't  it  perfect?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured.     "  It  is." 

"  But  look!  "  she  commanded.  "  You  haven't  once 
taken  your  eyes  from  my  face.  How  can  you 
say—?" 

"  What  I  said  goes,"  he  answered  curtly.  "  There's 
nothin'  to  take  back." 

Conover's  first  day  at  the  Antlers  was  pleasant;  for 
he  and  Desiree  were  together  from  morning  to  night. 
He  was  welcomed  with  effusive  cordiality  by  Jack  Ha- 
warden;  with  graceful  tolerance  by  the  lad's  mother. 
The  big  tent  wherein  he  was  quartered  was  near 
enough  to  the  Hawarden  cottage  to  make  the  trip  to 
and  fro  seem  as  nothing.  More  and  more  strongly  as 
the  day  wore  on  did  he  feel  as  though  he  had  reached 
some  long-sought  Mecca.  The  beauty  of  the  "  top  of 
the  world  "  was  lost  on  him ;  but  the  beauty  of  the 
girl  had  in  a  moment  became  an  integral  part  of  his 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD        265 

every  thought.  He  was  dully  surprised  at  himself. 
Heretofore  he  had  always  taken  Desiree  as  much  for 
granted  as  he  had  taken  the  sunlight  itself.  To  her 
he  had  turned  for  whatever  was  happiest  and  restful 
in  his  life;  had  done  it  unthinkingly,  as  part  of  his 
established  routine.  But  now,  after  two  months  of 
separation  from  her,  he  grasped  for  the  first  time  all 
her  presence  had  meant  to  him. 

The  mighty  silences  of  the  mountains  —  the  tum 
bled  miles  of  multi-shaded  green,  strewn  with  fire- 
blue  lakes  —  all  these  carried  no  message  to  the 
hard-headed  Fighter,  the  man  of  cities.  But  ever  he 
caught  himself  staring  at  Desiree  in  awed  wonder;  as 
though  some  veil  between  them  had  of  a  sudden  been 
snatched  away. 

That  first  afternoon  he  and  she  went  for  a  long  walk 
where  the  twisting  red-brown  trail  wound  half  aim 
lessly  through  the  still  forest;  and  she  lectured  him 
with  a  sternness  that  he  found  delicious,  upon  his  lack 
of  appreciation  for  the  vistas,  nooks  and  leafy  sanc 
tums  she  pointed  out.  Before  supper  she  made  him 
take  her  out  on  the  lake,  in  one  of  the  long,  slender 
guide-boats,  whose  over-lapping  oar  handles  he  found 
so  hard  to  manage.  In  midstream  she  bade  him  stop 
rowing,  and  pointed  to  the  west.  Against  a  green- 
gold  background  of  sky,  long  crimson  cloud-streamers 
flickered. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  wind  were  on  fire,"  she  breathed 
in  ecstacy. 

And  he,  after  a  perfunctory  glance  and  a  word  of 


266  THE  FIGHTER 

acquiescence,  bent  again  to  his  oars.  The  lake  was 
dotted  with  boats  of  the  "  sunset  fleet."  The  occu 
pants  of  a  dark  blue  St.  Lawrence  skiff  hailed  them. 
Caleb,  in  obedience  to  Desiree's  gesture  rowed  closer. 
The  oarsman  of  the  other  boat  proved  to  be  Jack  Ha- 
warden  who  was  returning  with  his  mother  from  a 
climb  of  the  Crags. 

"  Isn't  this  sunset  well  worth  traveling  all  the  way 
from  Granite  to  see  ?  "  called  Jack. 

"It  is  kind  of  pretty,"  assented  Caleb. 

"  *  Pretty ! '  '  repeated  Mrs.  Hawarden  in  gentle 
scorn.  "  What  a  word  for  such  a  scene !  It  brings 
out  all  that  is  highest  and  most  beautiful  in  one !  "  she 
went  on  soul  fully.  "  I  wish,  instead  of  rowing  back  to 
the  Antlers  to  supper,  I  might  drift  on  here  forever." 

"  You'd  be  li'ble  to  get  rather  hungry  after  a  few 
hours  of  it,  I  guess,"  volunteered  Caleb,  feeling  he 
was  somehow  beyond  his  depth. 

"  Hungry ! "  shuddered  Mrs.  Hawarden,  loath  to 
come  down  to  earth.  "  I  should  be  feasting  on  the 
sunset.  What  more  could  anyone  want  ?  " 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  suggested  Conover,  dubiously,  "  if 
you  leave  it  to  me,  I'd  rather  just  now  have  a  tripe 
sandwich." 

"  Come,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Hawarden  coldly.  "  I 
think  we'll  go  in." 

"  Oh,  how  could  you !  "  laughed  Desiree,  in  mock 
despair,  as  Caleb  and  she  followed.  "  Why,  her  very 
boat  radiates  disgust.  She'll  never  forgive  you  for 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD       267 

spoiling  her  rhapsody.  A  tripe  sandwich!  How 
could  —  ?" 

"  It  was  the  first  thing  that  came  into  my  head," 
he  excused.  "  An'  this  mountain  air's  put  an  edge  on 
my  ap'tite  that  I  could  shave  with.  A  tripe  sandwich 
would  taste  good.  I'm  sorry  if  I  — " 

"If  it  had  been  anything  less  hideously  plebeian! " 
she  insisted.  "  Even  roast  shoulder  of  tripe  would 
have  sounded  better.  Oh,  tripe  doesn't  have  should 
ers,  though,  does  it  ?  " 

"  It  may,  for  all  I  know,"  he  returned.  "  But,  say, 
Dey,  have  I  made  you  mort'fied?  Honest,  I  didn't 
mean  to." 

"  I  ought  to  scold  you,"  she  answered.  "  But,  for 
letting  me  see  that  look  on  poor  Mrs.  Hawarden's 
face,  I  forgive  you  everything." 

Jack  Hawarden,  entering  Conover's  tent  a  half  hour 
later,  found  the  Fighter  struggling  into  a  dinner 
jacket. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  urged  the  lad,  "  take  that 
thing  off.  Except  at  dances  they're  never  worn  here. 
There's  a  rumor  that  the  boys  ran  a  stranger  into  the 
lake,  one  summer,  for  coming  to  supper  in  evening 
dress." 

"  First  thing  that's  struck  me  right  since  I  came," 
grunted  Caleb,  eagerly  beginning  to  shed  the  tabooed 
garments.  "  I'll  get  into  something  com' f 'table  in  half 
a  minute  if  you'll  wait  for  me  that  long." 

"  The  Granite  papers  keep  us  posted  on  your  do- 


268  THE  FIGHTER 

ings,"  said  Jack,  seating  himself  on  the  bed.  "  You've 
made  the  old  State  sit  up  this  summer." 

"  I'll  have  it  standin'  on  its  hind  legs  an'  beggin', 
before  I'm  done,"  chuckled  Conover.  "  I'm  only  just 
beginnin'.  How  you  gettin'  on  with  Dey?" 

"  How  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Jack,  uneasily. 

"  Got  her  to  take  your  view  of  the  marryin'  prob 
lem?" 

"  No,"  said  the  boy.     "  I  haven't." 

"  Too  bad !  Been  here  all  summer  with  her,  an' 
had  moonlight  an'  all  that  sort  of  thing  to  your  favor. 
I  sh'd  think  if  you  was  ever  goin'  to  make  her  fall  in 
love  with  you  — " 

"  I  know,"  interrupted  Jack  soberly.  "  I  counted 
on  all  that,  but  — " 

"  Can't  get  her  to  see  it  your  way  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  Sometimes  I'm  afraid  I  never  shall. 
But  I  shan't  give  up.  All  my  life  I  shall  care  for  her 
and  try  to  make  myself  worthy  of  her,  whether  she 
ever  gets  to  caring  or  not." 

"  Good  book-talk,"  commented  the  Fighter,  "  but  it 
has  a  kind  of  a  square  sound  to  it,  too.  Well,  good 
luck  to  you !  You  can't  say  I  haven't  given  you  all  the 
chances  there  was." 

"  I  appreciate  it,  sir,"  answered  the  boy.  "  And 
soon  or  late  I  mean  to  win.  I  —  I  asked  her  once 
more  since  we  came  up  here  —  It  was  about  a  month 
ago.  But  it  seemed  to  make  her  unhappy.  And  I 
don't  want  to  spoil  her  summer.  So  I  am  waiting. 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD        269 

I'll  wait  for  years,  if  I  have  to.  Some  day  she  may 
learn  to  care." 

"  These  fellers  around  here, —  these  youngsters 
that's  spendin'  the  summer  at  the  hotel,"  queried  Caleb. 
"  Isn't  int'rested  in  any  of  them,  is  she?  " 

"  I  think  not,  sir.  She's  nice  to  all  of  them,  just  as 
she  is  to  me.  And  there  isn't  another  girl  half  so  pop 
ular.  But  I  don't  think  she  cares.  I'm  sure  she 
doesn't." 

Conover  wondered  why  Hawarden's  report  gave 
him  an  indefinable  sense  of  relief.  He  thought  the 
matter  over  for  a  moment ;  then  shook  his  head. 

'"  We're  keepin'  'em  waitin',"  he  said,  slapping  his 
hair  with  the  heavy  military  brushes  on  his  table. 
"  Come  along  — " 

As  he  turned  to  leave,  the  canvas  curtains  slowly 
parted  and  a  gold-red  collie  stepped  into  the  tent.  He 
glanced  about  him  with  the  air  of  one  quite  at  home, 
and  proceeded,  with  majestic  friendliness,  to  walk 
across  to  where  Conover  stood. 

"  What's  the  measly  dog  doin'  in  here  ?  "  demanded 
Caleb,  somewhat  taken  aback  at  the  visit. 

"  Why,  it's  Rex,"  answered  Jack,  as  though  that 
statement  explained  everything.  "  He  goes  wherever 
he  wants  to.  Desiree  thinks  the  world  of  him." 

Caleb,  mollified,  moved  nearer  to  the  dog  and  pro 
ceeded  to  pat  the  downy  fur  of  his  head. 

Rex,  without  the  least  appearance  of  rudeness, 
moved  quietly  away. 


THE  FIGHTER 

"  That's  like  all  dogs,"  grumbled  Caleb.  "  An'mals 
just  natch'lly  hate  me.  I  don't  know  why;  unless 
maybe  because  I  don't  like  'em.  What's  he  got  in  his 
mouth?" 

"  His  ball,"  laughed  the  boy.  "  He  always  carries 
one  around.  We  figured  out  the  other  day  that  he's 
stolen  at  least  eighty  tennis  balls  this  season.  He  has 
them  '  planted  '  all  over  the  place.  One  under  my  bed, 
another  in  the  hotel  woodbox  and  so  on.  Then  when 
ever  he  gets  lonely  he  roots  one  of  them  out  and  hunts 
up  somebody  to  play  ball  with  him.  And  we  usually 
do  it.  I  don't  know  why." 

They  had  left  the  tent  and  were  walking  along  the 
wooden  path  toward  the  dining  room;  Rex  trotting 
just  in  front  of  them,  and  making  them  adjust  their 
pace  on  the  narrow  footway  to  his.  At  the  walk's 
end,  the  dog  suddenly  bolted;  and  with  ears  tucked 
backward  and  tail  flying,  scampered  across  to  where 
Desiree  was  just  emerging  from  the  Hawarden  cot 
tage.  Caleb  joined  the  girl  and  her  chaperone;  and 
the  quartette  started  once  more  to  the  dining  room. 
Conover  and  Desiree  led  the  way,  Rex  placidly  thrust 
ing  himself  between  them,  as  they  walked. 

"Don't  you  think  he's  a  beauty?"  asked  Desiree. 
"He's  — oh,  look!" 

A  baby,  perhaps  two  years  old,  was  weaving  a  tor 
tuous  way,  under  convoy  of  her  nurse  toward  the  tents. 
At  sight  of  Rex,  the  child  deserted  her  lawful  escort 
and  made  a  wild,  toddling  rush  for  the  dog.  Six  feet 
away  from  him  she  halted,  a  gold-and-white  fluff  of 


ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  WORLD       271 

irresolute  babyhood,  scared  at  her  own  temerity.  Rex 
had  paused  at  her  approach  and  stood  wagging  his 
tail,  patiently  awaiting  the  next  move.  The  baby, 
eying  him  with  furtive  longing,  made  the  first  advance. 

"  How-do?  "  she  said,  politely,  ducking  her  head  in 
a  propitiatory  obeisance  at  the  marvellous  gold-red 
creature  in  her  path. 

As  Rex  did  not  reply  to  the  salutation  in  any  lan 
guage  she  could  understand,  the  baby  repeated  her  re 
mark,  a  shade  more  dubiously. 

"You  darling  little  thing!"  cried  Desiree.  "He's 
forgotten  how  to  talk  or  he'd  answer  you.  You  want 
to  pat  him,  don't  you?  He  won't  bite.  Come  along. 
See,  I'm  holding  him  for  you,"  and  she  buried  a  white 
hand  in  the  warm  fur  of  the  dog's  neck. 

Thus  encouraged,  the  child  came  nearer,  with  minc 
ing,  uncertain  steps,  ever  ready  to  turn  and  flee  should 
the  seemingly  quiescent  monster  show  the  slightest  in 
clination  to  turn  and  rend  her.  At  length,  in  a  burst 
of  dashing  heroism,  she  put  one  pudgy  hand  on  his 
head  in  a  gingerly  caress.  Rex  sat  down  in  the  path 
and  with  a  monumental  calm  suffered  the  familiarity. 
The  baby  with  a  squeal  of  delight  at  her  immunity, 
took  his  furry  head  to  her  breast  and  squeezed  it  with 
arms  that  scarce  met  about  the  dog's  soft  throat. 
Then  she  ventured  on  a  grand-stand  play.  Looking, 
to  make  sure  all  saw  her,  she  thrust  one  small  finger 
into  the  dog's  half -open  mouth.  Rex  laid  back  his 
ears  and  rolled  up  his  eyes  in  beatific  quiescence. 

"  The  beauty !  "  applauded  Desiree.     "  See,  Caleb ! 


272  THE  FIGHTER 

He's  trying  to  look  like  a  Numidean  lion.  He  wor 
ships  children.  Look  at  him !  " 

"  You  forget,  Desiree,"  said  Mrs.  Hawarden,  in  icy 
pleasantry.  "  Rex  is  not  a  tripe  sandwich.  To  a  rare 
soul  like  Mr.  Conover's,  even  a  sunset, —  to  say  noth 
ing  of  a  mere  dog  and  a  child  —  must  yield  to  the 
charms  of  supper.  Come.  We're  all  keeping  him." 

"  I  had  an  idee,"  muttered  Caleb,  as  he  passed  her 
on  the  way  to  the  dining  room,  "  that  it  was  'tother 
way  round." 


CHAPTER  XX 
CALEB  "OVERLOOKS  A  BET" 

The  ensuing  fortnight  was  at  once  the  longest  and 
the  shortest  fourteen  days  Conover  had  ever  known. 
So  far  as  his  companionship  with  Desiree  was  con 
cerned,  the  hours  had  sped  with  bewildering  haste. 
But,  otherwise,  time  had  limped  on  leaden  feet.  The 
message  of  the  hills  was  not  for  him. 

Green  mountains,  blue  sky  and  bluer  water.  And 
the  smell  of  balsam  that  had  grown  to  be  dully  irritat 
ing  to  him.  His  senses  instinctively  strained  for 
the  roar  of  traffic,  the  stark  hurry  of  men,  the  smell 
of  cities.  Throughout  the  day  the  universal  stillness 
of  the  wilds  was  broken  only  by  the  occasional  "  tck- 
tck-tck  "of  launches.  By  night,  even  this  was  absent ; 
and  as  Desiree  said,  "  God  seemed  very  near."  But 
the  hush,  the  eternal  calm  of  it  all  wore  upon  the 
Fighter's  nerves.  As  well  have  expected  the  south 
wind  to  draw  whispering  melodies  from  a  barrel-organ 
as  for  the  spell  of  the  forest  to  lay  its  blessed  and 
blessing  hand  on  the  brain  of  this  Man  of  Cities. 

At  times  he  caught  himself  counting  the  days  that 
remained,  and  there  was  an  impatient  eagerness  in 
the  count.  Then,  ever,  would  come  the  thought  that 
each  passing  day  brought  him  twenty- four  hours 

273 


274  THE  FIGHTER 

nearer  to  his  parting  from  Desiree.  And  eagerness 
would  give  way  to  a  sharp,  if  undefined  pain. 

Another  thing  wore  on  him.  To  prevent  Desiree 
from  guessing  at  his  boredom  he  was  forced  to  be 
always  on  guard.  She  had  at  first  been  half -afraid  he 
might  not  be  sufficiently  alive  to  the  beauty  of  it  all; 
and  had  exhibited  to  him  her  adored  woodland  treas 
ures  with  the  wistful  pride  of  a  child  that  shows  an 
interested  stranger  its  most  cherished  toys. 

To  drive  the  latent  wistfulness  from  her  eyes,  Con- 
over  had  soon  entered  effusively  into  the  spirit  of  ev-. 
erything.  And  Desiree,  usually  so  mercilessly  keen  to 
note  his  every  clumsy  effort  at  deception,  was  too 
happy  nowadays  to  observe  his  enthusiasm's  mechan-. 
ical  tenor.  Hence,  believing  she  had  made  a  convert, 
she  redoubled  her  efforts  in  educating  him  up  to  the 
loveliness  of  the  place.  And,  with  the  heroism  of  a 
Regulus,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  educated. 

At  times  of  course  he  struck  the  wrong  note.  Once, 
for  instance,  at  sunset  they  paddled  through  the  keel- 
wide  sandbar  channel  from  Raquette  into  Eldon  Lake 
and  found  themselves  in  an  unrippled  basin  of  black 
water  set  in  a  circle  of  forest  and  "  clearing."  The. 
silence  hung  heavy  as  velvet.  It  was  the  hush  of  a 
newborn,  unknown  world.  The  mystic  wonder  of  it 
all,  beneath  the  setting  sun,  caught  Desiree  by  the 
throat  and  held  her  trembling, —  speechless.  Caleb, 
splashing  time  with  his  oar,  began  to  sing. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  breathed;  as  though  protesting 
against  sacrilege. 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "       275 

"Gee!  Was  I  off  the  blamed  key,  again?"  he 
asked. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  the  wonder-light  dying 
from  her  face  as  the  spell  dissolved.  "  It's  all  right," 
she  went  on,  seeing  his  chagrin.  "  It's  all  right.  I'm 
sorry  I  was  cross.  You  were  so  busy  with  the  boat 
you  didn't  get  a  chance  to  notice  what  a  magic  lake  this 
is  we've  come  into;  or  you  couldn't  have  broken  the 
charm.  Look!  Can't  you  see  Siegfried  running 
through  the  hemlocks,  on  his  way  to  Mime's  cave? 
And  that  band  of  dead  gray  tamaracks  down  there 
with  the  single  flaming  maple  in  the  forground !  Isn't 
it  like  an  army  of  tree-ghosts  with  the  red  standard 
in  its  van?  " 

So  she  prattled  on,  seeking  to  keep  him  from  seeing 
how  he  had  jarred  upon  her  mood.  But  he  knew, 
none  the  less.  And  he  realized  that  there  were  times, 
even  on  vacation,  when  one  must  be  silent.  But  what 
those  times  might  be  he  could  not  guess.  Nor  did  he 
dare  ask. 

When  next  day  they  climbed  the  Crags  and  looked 
down  on  the  gleaming  lake  with  the  scattered  green  of 
its  islands,  she  looked  at  him  in  eager  expectation  of 
his  delight.  He  surveyed  the  lake  in  stony  silence. 
Then  let  his  gaze  run  expressionless  over  the  lines  of 
mountain  ramparts  far  to  southward  that  rose  in 
ever  higher  swells  until  the  farthest  was  half  lost  in 
haze.  No  word  did  he  speak.  He  felt  he  was  rising 
to  the  occasion.  If  one  must  not  speak  on  Eldon  Lake 
at  sunset  it  followed  that  one  should  be  equally  reti- 


276  THE  FIGHTER 

cent  on  the  Crags  by  the  brighter  light  of  morning. 

"  Say  something ! "  she  commanded,  keenly  disap 
pointed  at  his  apathy. 

"  Noo  York  must  be  somewheres  in  a  line  with  that 
biggest  mountain  over  there  to  the  south,"  he  haz 
arded;  glad  to  learn  that  the  present  was,  for  some 
reason,  not  one  of  those  mysterious  speechless  occa 
sions. 

In  the  evenings,  as  a  rule,  they  went  to  the  "  open 
camp."  There  in  the  big  three-sided  log  shed  with 
its  evergreen-lined  walls  and  its  deep,  blanket-cov 
ered  floor  of  soft  balsam  boughs,  a  dozen  or 
more  people  were  wont  to  congregate  by  night. 
In  front  of  the  shed  blazed  a  Homeric  camp  fire 
that  tempered  the  mountain  chilliness  and  made  the 
whole  place  light  as  day.  The  young  people, —  De- 
siree  and  Jack  among  them, —  usually  spent  the  short 
evenings  in  singing  and  story  telling.  Caleb  felt  less 
at  his  ease  here  than  anywhere  else.  For  the  young 
folk  talked  a  language  of  Youth,  that  he  did  not  un 
derstand.  The  stories  he  found  somewhat  mild,  and 
the  point  of  several  of  them  he  failed  to  catch.  A 
sense  of  strangeness  prevented  him  from  joining  in 
the  songs.  He  had  had  no  youth;  save  that  which 
Desiree  had  imparted  to  him.  And  he  knew  himself 
out  of  place  among  the  carefree,  jolly  crowd.  It  made 
him  feel  ponderous,  aged,  taciturn.  The  easy  laughter 
of  youth  only  perplexed  him.  His  sole  joy  during 
these  open  camp  evenings  was  to  lie  in  a  shadowed 
corner  of  the  "  lean-to  "  and  watch  the  firelight  play 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "        277 

on  Desiree's  bright  face ;  to  hear  her  infectious  laugh ; 
to  see  how  popular  she  was  among  the  youngsters  of 
her  own  age.  So  long  as  she  did  not  seek  to  ease  his 
boredom  by  dragging  him  into  the  talk,  he  was  well 
content  to  lie  thus  and  drink  the  delight  of  her  fresh 
loveliness.  When  she  made  him  talk,  he  straightway 
became  pompously  shy;  and  managed  to  convey  his 
sense  of  acute  discomfort  to  everyone  about  him. 

Altogether,  the  Adirondacks,  for  perhaps  the  first 
time  since  that  wonderland's  discovery,  had  found  a 
visitor  who  did  not  speedily  become  a  worshipper. 

"  Receive  news !  "  announced  Desiree,  one  evening 
as  she  met  Caleb  on  her  return  from  a  conference 
with  Mrs.  Hawarden.  "  To-morrow's  my  birthday.'* 

"  Did  you  s'pose  I'd  forgot?  "  he  asked  in  reproach, 
—  "  There's  two  dates  I  always  manage  to  remember. 
One's  your  birthday.  The  other's  the  day  you're 
comin'  back  to  Granite." 

"  But  that  isn't  the  news,"  she  went  on.  "  It's 
only  a  running  start  to  get  you  ready  for  it.  Mrs. 
Hawarden's  going  to  celebrate  by  the  gorgeousest  pic 
nic  you  ever  heard  of." 

"  Last  one  we  went  on,"  began  Caleb,  "  I  burnt  two 
of  my  fingers;  an'  there  was  sand  in  the  lem'nade. 
"  But,"  he  broke  off  just  in  time,  "  it'll  be  great  to  go 
on  another.  Where's  it  to  be?  " 

"  To  Brown's  Tract  pond.  'Way  up  at  the  head  of 
Brown's  Tract  Inlet.  You  remember?  The  inlet 
that  twists  around  like  a  snake  that's  swallowed  a 


278  THE  FIGHTER 

corkscrew?  We're  going  to  spend  the  night.  Just 
think  of  that!  All  four  of  us.  The  guide  is  going 
up  early  in  the  morning  to  pitch  the  two  tents  and  get 
everything  ready.  And  we're  to  stramble  along  at 
our  leisure  and  get  there  about  noon.  Think !  We're 
actually  to  camp  overnight.  I  wish  there  were  bears 
or  catamounts  or  something,  to  come  not  too  near 
and  growl  dreadfully.  I'm  going  to  take  Rex  along 
if  Mr.  Bennett  will  let  me.  And  —  isn't  it  a  nice 
way  to  wind  up  your  vacation?  You'll  have  plenty  of 
time.  We'll  be  back  here  by  noon  next  day,  and  your 
train  doesn't  go  till  night." 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  my  going  away,"  he  replied. 
"  I  thought  I'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  get  back  to  the 
fight.  But  for  the  past  two  days  I've  been  tryin'  to 
frame  up  an  excuse  to  myself  that'd  let  me  stay 
longer." 

"  Oh,  why  don't  you?  Why  don't  you?  "  she  cried, 
all  eagerness.  "  I  stump  you  to !  Please  stay !  " 

"Don't,  little  girl!"  he  urged.  "If  I  could  stay 
with  you  an  extra  hour,  d'you  s'pose  I'd  need  to  be 
begged  to?  It'  a  case  of  must.  I  got  to  be  on  deck 
day  after  to-morrow.  That  special  session  of  the 
Legislature  I  was  tellin'  you  about  meets  week  after 
next.  An'  I've  got  to  work  like  a  dog  till  then  to  lick 
my  crowd  into  line  an'  frame  up  a  stiff  enough  de 
fence  against  your  friend,  Blacarda.  I'll  be  as  busy 
as  a  one-armed  paper-hanger  that's  got  hives." 

"  But  why  ?  "  she  persisted.  "  You've  been  work 
ing  away  with  both  hands  all  your  life.  You're  rich. 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "        279 

What's  the  use  of  all  that  money  if  you  can't  have 
some  fun?  " 

"  I  get  my  fun  in  the  winnin'.     Not  in  the  holdin'." 

"  But  you  don't  even  know  how  to  rest.  And  now, 
just  as  I'm  teaching  you,  you  run  away.  You  could 
wait  perfectly  well,  three  weeks  longer,  and  then  go 
back  to  Granite  with  us.  Just  think  what  a  sumptu 
ous  time  we'd  have  here !  I'm  very  wise,"  she  coaxed. 
"  Won't  you  take  my  advice  and  stay?  " 

"  I'd  take  it  in  a  minute  if  I  could,  girl,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  Oh,  dear !  That  means  you  won't.  Advice  is 
something  everybody  asks,  everybody  gives  —  and 
nobody  takes.  I  wish  you'd  stay.  This  has  been  the 
beauti fullest,  happiest  two  weeks  I  ever  spent." 

"  Has  it,  honest,  Dey?  "  he  asked,  his  heavy  face  of 
a  sudden  alight.  "  Honest?  It's  been  'bout  the  only 
long  stretch  of  happy  time  I  c'n  remember." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  stay  ? "  she  demanded. 
"Can't  you  see?—" 

He  hesitated. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to,"  he  said  at  last. 

She  clapped  her  hands,  then  squeezed  his  arm  as 
they  swung  down  the  hill  together. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on.  "  I  b'lieve  I'll  do  it.  It'd  be 
fun  to  see  what'd  happen  if  I  was  to  cut  loose  from 
work  for  once.  An'  you  an'  me  could  be  to 
gether — " 

"  Would  you  lose  so  very  much  ?  "  she  asked  doubt 
fully,  in  belated  concern. 


280  THE  FIGHTER 

"  No  more'n  I  could  afford.  Nowhere  near  so 
much  as  it's  worth  to  have  that  extry  time  with  you. 
My  own  Steeloid  holdin's  are  pretty  well  covered.  It 
won't  be  me  that  goes  broke.  I  own  my  stock  out 
right;  an'  before  the  winter's  over  I'll  get  the  bill  de 
clared  unconstitootional.  That'll  bring  the  price  up 
again.  I  c'n  afford  to  let  up  on  Blacarda  for  once. 
I'm  dead  sure  to  get  him  later  on  the  same  game,  as 
well  as  on  somethin'  else." 

"  You  say  it  won't  be  you  who  go  broke."  she  inter 
posed.  "Will  anyone?  I  mean  if  you  don't  go 
back  day  after  tomorrow." 

"Well,"  grinned  Caleb,  "If  Blacarda's  bill  passes, 
our  Steeloid  stock'll  will  take  a  big  tumble,  of  course. 
For  those  that  owns  it  outright  that'll  be  no  great  loss ; 
'cause  it'll  rocket  again  as  soon  as  I  sick  one  of  my 
judges  onto  the  bill's  constitootionality.  But  the  fel 
lers  I've  tipped  off  to  buy  on  margin  —  d'you  under 
stand  all  this  line  of  talk?  —  those  fellers  are  plungin' 
pretty  deep,  I  hear,  an' — "  0: 

"Will  they  lose  much?" 

"  Some  of  'em  are  li'ble  to  be  'bout  wiped  out,  I 
guess.  The  el'gant  Amzi  Nicholas  Caine,  f'r  instance, 
An'  old  Reuben  Standish.  He'll  go  to  pot,  sure.  An' 
Mr.—" 

"  You  mean  they  went  into  this  on  your  advice,  and 
if  you  aren't  there  to  stand  by  them  they  will  be 
ruined?" 

"  Just  'bout  that,  I  guess.  Don't  blame  me.  They 
wasn't  'bliged  to  take  my  tips  an'  I'm  not  responsible 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "         281 

for  'em.  Anyhow,  they've  made  enough  off  me  this 
year  to  — " 

"  You  must  go  back."  she  declared.  "  I  was  very 
wrong.  It  just  shows  what  harm  a  fluff-brained  girl 
can  do  by  poking  her  fingers  into  business  she  doesn't 
understand.  Why,  Caleb  "  she  added,  with  a  startled 
awe:  "If  you'd  done  as  I  asked,  who  knows  how 
many  families  might  have  been  made  horribly  poor? 
And  it  would  all  have  been  my  fault.  You  must  go 
back." 

"  But,  Dey !  "  he  protested,  "  You're  all  off.  It's  no 
affair  of  mine  what  that  gold-shirt  crowd  put  their 
cash  on.  I  don't  owe  anything  to  'em.  An'  if  I  can 
give  you  a  good  time  by  stayin',  the  whole  bunch  of  'em 
can  hire  a  brass  band  an'  march  to  the  poorhouse,  for 
all  I  care.  If  you  say  '  stay  ',  I'll  stay." 

"  I  say  you  mustn't,"  she  insisted,  "  And  it  was 
dear  of  you  to  be  willing  to,  for  my  sake.  Anyway, 
I'll  see  you  again  in  three  weeks.  That  won't  be  so 
very  long." 

"  No  longer'n  three  years  is  gen' rally"  grumbled 
Caleb;  and  the  subject  dropped. 

They  were  on  their  way  to  the  pretty  waterside 
building  that  served  the  quadruple  purpose  of  casino, 
store,  post-office  and  boathouse,  for  the  Antlers.  The 
arrival  of  the  evening  mail  was  one  of  the  day's  two 
great  events;  the  other  being  the  morning  mail's  ad 
vent.  The  night  had  a  sting  to  its  air ;  and  the  mail- 
time  gathering  was  held  in  the  lamplit  store  instead  of 
on  the  porch  or  dock.  A  tall  clerk  was  busy  sorting 


282  THE  FIGHTER 

letters  and  packages  to  eager  groups  of  sweater-clad 
girls  and  to  men  in  cold-weather  outing  garb.  Con- 
over  and  Desiree,  awaiting  their  turn,  leaned  against 
the  glass  cases  opposite  the  post-office  counter  and 
watched  the  laughing,  excited  guests. 

"  What  I  can't  see "  commented  Caleb,  "  is  why 
ev'rybody's  always  in  such  a  sweat  about  their  mail. 
What  is  there  in  it  for  anyone?  To  ev'ry  env'lope 
that's  got  a  check  in  it  there's  three  that  has  bills;  an' 
a  dozen  with  adv'tisements.  To  ev'ry  letter  that's 
worth  readin'  there's  ten  that's  stoopid  or  grouchy 
or  makin'  a  hard  luck  touch.  An'  as  for  soov'nir 
postals  —  the  only  folks  they  int'rest  is  those  that 
sends  'em.  People  come  up  here  to  get  away  from 
the  world  they've  been  livin'  in.  Yet  they  scramble 
for  noospapers  an'  letters  from  that  same  world,  like 
they  was  stranded  on  a  desert  island. —  Here's  our 
chance." 

The  crowd  had  thinned.  Caleb  and  Desiree  went 
forward  to  the  mail  counter.  For  Conover  there 
were  a  sheaf  of  letters  in  business  envelopes.  He 
thrust  them  without  a  glance  into  the  pocket  of  his 
tweed  coat.  Desiree's  sole  mail  consisted  of  a  long 
pasteboard  box  thickly  strewn  with  vari-colored  stamps 
and  bearing  the  gold-lettered  legend  of  a  New  York 
florist. 

In  a  second  her  quick  fingers  had  torn  away  the 
wrappings.  As  the  box  was  lifted,  a  whiff  of  warm 
fragrance  rushed  out ;  filling  the  room. 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Desiree,  burying  her   face  raptur- 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "        283 

ously  in  a  crimson  nest  of  American  Beauty  roses. 

Then,  her  cheeks  aglow  and  her  eyes  shining,  she 
lifted  her  head  and  faced  Conover. 

"Thank  you!  Thank  you  so  much!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  It  was  perfectly  darling  of  you  to  re 
member  my  birthday  so  beautifully.  And  I  love 
American  Beauties  so.  I  might  have  known  you 
would  think  of  that.  It's  just  like  you.  Smell  them ! 
What  a  dear,  thoughtful  blessed  old — " 

She  checked  herself  at  sight  of  Conover's  blank  ex 
pression.  If  her  own  face  had  borrowed  the  flush  of 
her  armful  of  roses,  Caleb  had  exacted  similar  tribute 
from  a  whole  wagonload  of  imaginary  peonies. 

"  I'm  —  I'm  sorry,  Dey,"  he  blurted  out  at  last, 
"  But  they  ain't  from  me.  I  — ,  well,  they  must  be 
from  somebody  who's  got  more  sense.  I  didn't  think 
to  get  you  anything  at  all.  I  didn't  ever  know  folks 
gave  reg'lar  presents  on  birthdays." 

He  stopped  abruptly.  For  the  fading  of  the  happy 
light  from  Desiree's  eyes  had  its  usual  effect  of  leaving 
him  wordless  and  miserable. 

The  girl,  embarassed,  fell  to  turning  the  flowers  over 
in  their  long  box.  She  looked  a  little  tired  and  her 
arrangement  of  the  blossoms  was  perfunctory.  A 
card  was  dislodged  from  among  stems  and  fell  to  the 
floor.  Caleb,  picking  it  up,  read  Jack  Hawarden's 
name. 

"  The  measly  brat !"  raged  Conover,  to  himself,  "  He 
aint  got  a  dollar  to  his  back;  an'  yet  he  can  bring  off 
a  grandstand  play  like  this,  an'  make  her  look  like  she 


284  THE  FIGHTER 

was  a  kid  seein'  her  first  Christmas  Tree!  An  now 
I've  made  her  look  like  she  wanted  to  cry!  Lord! 
If  I  don't  give  her  a  whole  joolry  store  for  Christmas, 
I'm  a  Chinaman !  " 

"  Never  mind,  dear  old  boy !  "  she  whispered,  press 
ing  close  to  his  arm  as  they  turned  to  mount  the  hill 
on  the  way  to  the  Hawarden  Cottage,  "  I'll  make  be 
lieve  they're  from  you  and  that  will  be  every  bit  as 
nice  as  if  they  really  were.  And  you've  done  more 
lovely  things  for  me  than  everybody  else  put  together. 
And  I  won't  have  you  looking  pathetic.  Stop  it! 
Now,  smile!  Oh,  what  a  squidgy,  weak  sort  of  a 
smile!  It's  all  right,  I  tell  you.  I  know  you'd  have 
given  me  much  lovelier  roses  than  these  if  you'd 
thought." 

"That's  just  it!"  he  growled  bitterly,  "I  don't 
think.  I  never  think.  I  guess  you  know  I'd  let  'em 
cut  me  up  into  city  blocks  if  it'd  make  a  hit  with  you, 
Dey.  But  what  good  does  that  do?  When  it 
comes  to  bein'  on  hand  with  the  million  dinky  little 
stunts  that  women  likes,  I'm  always  a  mile  away,  some 
where,  hoein'  corn.  I  wouldn't  blame  you  if  you  — " 

"  Stop !  "  she  cried,  a  break  in  her  clear  voice,  "  You 
shan't  talk  that  way.  Do  you  suppose  all  the  presents 
in  the  world  would  have  made  me  half  as  happy  as 
having  you  here,  this  two  weeks  ?  Would  any  present 
have  cost  you  one  tenth  the  sacrifice  of  giving  up  your 
work  for  my  sake?  And  just  now  you  offered  to 
throw  away  thousands  of  dollars  and  wreck  half  a 
dozen  of  people's  fortunes  in  order  to  please  me  by 


CALEB  "  OVERLOOKS  A  BET  "        285 

staying  longer   at   the   Antlers.     What   more   could 
anyone  do  for  me  than  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  simply,  "But  some  day 
I  may  find  out.  An'  when  I  do, —  why,  I'll  do  it. 
You  can  gamble  on  that,  you  little  girl." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FOREST    MADNESS 

It  was  late  the  next  forenoon  when  the  quartette,  in 
two  guide  boats,  set  out  from  the  Antlers  dock  for 
their  twenty-four  hour  picnic  to  Brown's  Tract  Pond. 

A  guide  had  started  an  hour  earlier  with  the  camping 
equipment  and  pack.  Jack  and  Mrs.  Hawarden  led 
the  way;  Desiree  and  Caleb  being  delayed  in  starting 
by  the  vast  pressure  and  vaster  quantities  of  candy 
that  must  be  brought  to  bear  on  Rex  before  the  collie 
would  consent  to  trust  his  cautious  young  life  in  their 
boat.  When  at  last  the  reluctant  dog's  fears  were 
overcome  and  he  lay  curled  in  a  contented,  furry 
heap  at  Desiree's  feet  in  the  stern, —  Caleb  bent  to  his 
oars  with  a  swing  that  sent  the  frail  guide  boat  over 
the  mile  of  intervening  lake  in  time  to  enter  the  inlet 
a  bare  length  behind  the  Hawardens.  Under  the  low 
wooden  bridge  they  passed.  Then  began  an  erratic 
progress. 

The  sluggish  stream  wriggles  through  part  of  the 
old  government  tract  once  ceded  to  "  Ossawotamie." 
John  Brown  of  anti-slavery  memory.  Formerly, 
green  tamaracks  lined  the  lowlands  to  either  side  of 
the  inlet's  banks.  The  raising  of  the  dams  which, 
years  ago,  signed  the  murder-warrant  for  so  many 

286 


FOREST  MADNESS  287 

thousand  splendid  trees,  have  left  the  tamaracks 
here  —  as  elsewhere  along  the  watercourses, —  a  waste 
of  feathery  gray  skeletons. 

A  bite  of  Autumn  was  in  the  air.  From  bush  and 
from  waterside  grasses,  the  dying  summer  flashed 
its  scarlet-and-gold  warning  of  winter's  dread  ap 
proach. 

The  inlet  wound  southward  in  a  bewildering  series 
of  turns  and  twists;  perhaps  a  hundred  such  abrupt 
turnings  to  the  mile.  There  was  hardly  scope  for 
three  successive  oar-strokes  between  the  twists.  Fast 
rowing  was  out  of  the  question.  A  long  stroke  or  two, 
for  momentum;  then  the  quick  backing  of  an  oar  and 
a  plunge  of  the  stern  paddle;  and,  unless  the  bow 
caught  in  the  jutting  huckleberry  bushes  of  the  bank, 
one  turn  was  safely  passed  and  another  was  at  hand. 

The  gray  stone  mountains,  with  their  clumps  of  ever 
greens  shot  with  the  red  and  yellow  of  maple  or  birch, 
rose  against  the  sky  on  one  side  of  the  marsh.  On  the 
other,  the  deep  forest  ran  down  to  the  fringe  of 
tamarack  ghosts;  a  rare  white  birch  standing  out 
here  and  there,  like  a  sheeted  giant,  amid  the  dusk  of 
the  hemlocks.  Above  blazed  the  white  sun.  The  long 
grasses  hummed  with  insect  life.  A  mink  darted  to 
cover  from  beneath  the  bow  of  the  guide  boat.  In 
the  black  loam  of  the  bank  burrowed  a  sleek  gray 
water  rat.  Far  to  the  northeast,  a  solitary,  everlasting 
landmark  for  all  the  region,  crouched  old  Blue  Mount 
ain,  like  some  benevolent,  haze-shrouded  mastodon. 

"  I  can't  remember,"  observed  Desiree,  "  when  we 


288  THE  FIGHTER 

weren't  squeezing  past  one  turn  and  running  into 
another.  And  I  can't  imagine  any  time  when  we  won't 
still  be  doing  it.  It's  like  one  of  those  weird  maze- 
places  at  Atlantic  City  where  you  go  through  a  door 
only  to  find  yourself  staring  at  three  others.  The  man 
who  went  for  a  walk  and  met  himself  coming  back 
would  have  found  himself  facing  whole  family  groups 
of  selves  if  he'd  come  up  this  inlet.  There's  where  the 
Eighth  Lake  Carry  begins.  Over  there  to  the  left; 
where  that  tumble-down  wooden  dock  is.  We  aren't 
anywhere  near  Brown's  Tract  Pond  yet.  Just  hear 
Jack  yodel!  He's  as  excited  over  this  picnic  as  a 
school  boy.  He's  rowing  like  mad  and  — " 

"  Guess  somebody  must  a  been  feedin'  him  meat," 
suggested  Caleb  unkindly;  glancing  back  over  his 
shoulders  at  the  leading  boat  whose  oarsman's  en 
thusiasm  had  driven  its  bow  into  the  mudbank  at  one 
sharp  turn.  "  Say,  he'  awful  much  in  love  with  you, 
Dey.  Are  you  goin'  to  end  up  by  marryin'  him?  " 

"  No,"  said  Desiree,  shortly. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  boats  had  been  dragged  over 
the  last  impasse  and  the  pond  was  reached ; —  a  circular 
blot  of  water  amid  the  surrounding  hills ;  a  high  island 
rising  in  its  centre. 

A  halloo  from  Jack  brought  an  answering  call  from 
the  distant  guide.  Slipping  along  the  shore  where  the 
yellow  sand  ran  out  for  yards  under  its  shallow  cover 
ing  of  blue  water,  the  two  boats  came  to  rest  off  the 
site  chosen  for  the  camp.  The  two  tents  were  already 


FOREST  MADNESS  289 

pitched,  and  a  fire  crackled  merrily.  The  guide  was 
busy  frying  eggs  and  strips  of  bacon  in  huge  black 
pans.  Potatoes  bubbled  in  one  pot  above  the  fire; 
while  from  another  came  the  aroma  of  coffee 

"  Heaven  may  be  as  beautiful  as  this  grove,"  sighed 
Desiree  in  ecstacy,  "  but  I'm  perfectly  sure  it  will  never 
smell  so  deliciously  appetizing.  I'm  starved.  Is  that 
drinking-water,  Steve?  "  she  asked,  pointing  to  a  pail 
with  a  dipper  beside  it. 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  replied  the  guide.  "  Or  it  will  be 
when  I've  boiled  it." 

"  I'm  too  thirsty  to  wait  for  it  to  boil,"  she  objected 
picking  up  the  dipper.  "  Won't  somebody  else  have 
some  ?  —  Mrs.  Hawarden  ?  " 

"  'Tisn't  healthy  to  drink  water  from  forest  springs 
till  it's  been  boiled,"  put  in  the  guide.  "  It's  likely  to 
be  all  chock-full  of  germs.  Boilin'  kills  em,"  he  ad 
ded,  proud  of  his  scientific  lore. 

"  I'd  as  lief  be  a  germ  aquarium  as  a  germ  cem 
etery  "decided  the  girl,  drinking  deep  of  the  cold, 
limpid  water,  "Is  there  any  fishing  in  this  pond,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Well,"  drawled  the  guide,  piqued  that  his  medical 
advice  should  have  gone  for  naught,  "  there'll  be  better 
fishin'  tonight  than  there  is  just  now.  There's  pretty 
sure  to  be  a  heavy  mountain  fog  after  a  day  like  this. 
And  those  fogs  get  so  thick,  around  here,  sometimes, 
that  the  fish  can't  tell  the  difference  between  the  fog 
and  the  water.  And  they  swim  right  up  into  the  tents. 


2QO  THE  FIGHTER 

I've  caught  'em  that  way  dozens  of  times.  Forrest 
Bird  and  '  Smiling '  Kelly  was  telling  me  they  came 
here  once  and  — " 

"  Was  it  that  sort  of  a  bait  you  used?  "  asked  De 
siree  innocently,  pointing  to  a  flask-neck  that  had 
worked  its  way  into  view  from  the  pocket  of  the 
guide's  jacket  as  he  leaned  over  the  fire. 

He  shoved  back  the  offending  flask ;  grinning  sheep 
ishly. 

"  Because  "  went  on  Desiree  with  the  same  wide- 
eyed  innocence,  "  I've  always  heard  it  attracted  more 
snakes  than  fish.  Isn't  it  lucky  there  are  no  snakes 
in  the  Adirondacks  ?  " 

Rex  sniffed  longingly  at  the  candy-box  lying  on  the 
pile  of  wraps  near  the  fire.  Then  he  looked  at  Desiree 
and  waved  his  tail  with  an  air  of  disinterested  friend 
liness.  After  which  he  resumed  his  study  of  the  box. 

"  It  will  make  you  quite  ill  if  you  eat  candy  before 
dinner,  Rexie,"  the  girl  told  him. 

The  dog  seemed  impressed;  for  he  moved  away 
from  the  coveted  treasure.  But  he  eyed  Desiree  so 
sadly  that  she  relented.  Opening  the  box  she  searched 
till  she  found  a  chocolate  wafer  and  tossed  it  to  Rex. 
He  caught  it  in  mid-air.  Caleb  absent  mindedly 
helped  himself  to  a  piece  of  candy  from  the  open  box. 

"  There  was  a  young  man  so  benighted,"  she  ad 
monished  Conover, 

"  He  never  knew  when  he  was  slighted. 
He'd  go  to  a  party 


FOREST  MADNESS  291 

And  eat  just  as  hearty 

As  if  he'd  been  really  invited. 

"  And  the  moral  of  this  is :  —  Wait  till  people  say 
*  Please  have  some '  before  you  dip  in.  Where  are 
your  manners,  Caleb?  Now,  what  are  you  looking 
at?" 

"  Say,  but  you're  pretty,  today !  "  remarked  Con- 
over,  his  glance  roving  appraisingly  over  her  trim  fig 
ure  in  its  roughing  costume,  and  at  the  tanned,  eager 
little  face,  "  As  pretty's  you  can  be." 

"  I  suppose  everyone  is,"  laughed  Desiree,  in  em- 
barassment;  noting  Mrs.  Hawarden's  air  of  seeming 
not  to  have  heard  the  bald  praise,  "  Oh,  see  the  beau 
tiful  green  caterpillar  that's  come  to  our  party!  And 
a  whole  army  of  nice  hungry  aunts !  There's  a  spider, 
too.  Do  drive  him  off,  Jack !  Don't  kill  him,  though. 
It's  bad  luck.  For  the  spider,  anyway." 

"  Avaunt,  dread  monster  of  the  wilderness !  "  de 
claimed  Jack;  brushing  the  offender  away. 

Dinner  and  a  long  lazy  afternoon.  A  row  of  ex 
ploration  about  the  pond's  edge,  a  visit  to  the  island ; 
a  ramble  through  the  woods;  —  and  nightfall  found 
the  campers  eating  a  firelight  supper  with  the  crass 
hunger  of  the  unaccustomed  outdoor  sojourner.  Then 
a  short,  yawn-punctuated  chat  around  the  campfire. 
and  the  signal  for  bed. 

It  is  one  thing  for  a  man  of  cities  to  be  delightfully 
sleepy  after  his  first  long  day  in  the  woods.  It  is 
quite  a  different  matter  for  him  to  be  able  to  fall  asleep 


292  THE  FIGHTER 

on  a  many-pro jectioned  bed  of  balsam,  while  a  guide 
snores  raucously  on  one  side  of  him  and  a  second  man 
tosses  in  uneasy,  muttering  slumber  on  the  other. 
After  counting  up  to  one  hundred,  and  keeping  tabs 
on  a  flock  of  visionary  sheep  as  they  leaped  an  equally 
mythical  wall  (and  hoping  in  morbid  disgust  that 
some  of  them  would  fall  and  break  their  imaginary 
necks),  Conover  rose  quietly,  pulled  on  such  garments 
as  he  had  removed,  groped  about  till  he  found  his  thick 
waterproof  coat  and  stumbled  out  into  the  open.  He 
kicked  the  fire's  smouldering  logs  into  a  blaze  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  barely  nine-thirty.  He 
took  out  a  cigar  and  prepared  to  sit  down  beside  the 
logs  and  smoke  himself  sleepy  again. 

Then  she  came. 

He  was  not  surprised.  Even  before  he  turned  his 
head  or  noticed  the  fall  of  her  light  feet  on  the  mold, 
he  somehow  knew  she  was  drawing  near.  He  looked 
around  to  find  her  close  behind  him.  Her  hair  was 
caught  up  loosely,  and  shimmered  like  a  rust-shot 
aureole  in  the  waning  firelight.  She  wore  the  sweater 
and  walking  skirt  of  the  afternoon.  But  her  high 
boots  had  been  changed  for  moccasins. 

"  I  couldn't  sleep,"  she  whispered,  clasping  the  hands 
he  held  out  to  her,  "  All  the  forest  and  the  silences 
seemed  calling  to  me.  Besides,  Mrs.  Hawarden  sleeps 
so,  —  so  audibly.  All  at  once,  I  felt  you  were  out 
here.  So  I  came.  Is  it  very  late  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  in  the  same  key,  "  Not  much 
mor'n  half  past  nine.  Sit  down  here  an'  I'll  get  a 


FOREST  MADNESS  293 

blanket  to  wrap  'round  you.  I  ought  to  send  you  back, 
so's  you  won't  catch  cold.  But  it's  —  somehow  it's 
so  good  to  have  you  right  here  by  me.  This  time 
tomorrow  night  I'll  be  glad  to  remember  it." 

"  Don't  get  me  any  wrap,"  she  forbade,  stretching 
out  her  hands  to  the  blaze  he  was  again  stirring  into 
life,  "  I'm  warm  enough.  And  you'd  fall  over  some 
thing  and  swear  and  that  would  wake  somebody. 
Then  I'd  have  to  go  back  to  the  stuffy  tent." 

Rex,  curled  up  asleep  on  the  far  side  of  the  fire, 
lifted  his  head;  wakened  by  the  sibillant  whispering. 
Seeing  Desiree,  he  began  to  smite  the  earth  resound 
ingly  with  his  wagging  tail. 

"  Hush !  "  whispered  the  girl,  raising  her  ringer  in 
warning;  as  the  collie's  sleepy,  golden  eyes  blinked 
more  and  more  friendly  greetings  and  the  bushy  tail 
increased  the  tempo  of  its  beats.  Mistaking  her  ges 
ture,  Rex  rose  with  lazy  grace,  stretched  himself, 
alternately,  fore  and  aft,  collie-fashion;  and  picked 
his  way  daintily  across  the  cleared  space  to  Desiree's 
side.  He  lay  down  at  her  feet,  thrusting  his  cold  nose 
affectionately  into  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

"  What  a  gorgeous  night !  "  murmered  Desiree  look 
ing  up  at  the  black,  star-strewn  sky,  "  And  we  were 
going  to  waste  it  in  sleep!  The  woods  are  calling. 
The  dryads  and  fauns  want  us  to  come  to  their  en 
chanted  dell  and  dance  with  them.  Shall  we?  " 

Understanding  not  a  tithe  of  her  words  the  man 
nevertheless  caught  the  flickering  light  of  adventure 
in  her  eyes. 


294  THE  FIGHTER 

"  I'm  always  game  for  anything  you  put  a  name  to" 
he  made  answer,  "I'm  kind  of  heavy  for  dancin*. 
But  if  it'll  be  any  sort  of  pleasure  for  you,  I  might 
have  a  try  at  it." 

"  Hush !  "she  warned,  "  If  you  speak  as  loudly  as 
that  you'll  be  sure  to  wake  them.  Isn't  this  fun?" 
she  went  on  with  a  happy  little  laugh,  "  I  feel  as  if  we'd 
run  away  from  school  and  were  going  to  be  scolded 
terribly  hard  when  we  get  back.  I  dare  you,  —  oh,  I 
dare  you !  I  double-dare  you !  " 

"  To  what  ?  "  he  demanded,  infected  by  the  sudden 
rush  of  mischief  to  her  face  and  voice,  "  I'll  do  any 
thing  you  say.  Want  me  to  haul  out  Steve  Martin  an' 
Jack  an'  lick  'em  for  you,  or  set  fire  to  the  old  lady's 
tent?" 

"  Neither,  she  decreed  sternly ;  adding  with  perverse 
wistfulness,  "  Though  it  would  be  interesting  to  see 
how  Mrs.  Hawarden's  airy  dignity  would  sustain  her 
in  a  blazing  tent.  No,  no.  What  I  was  going  to 
dare  you  to  do  is  much  less  spectacular.  Nothing 
more  exciting  than  a  walk." 

"  A  walk  ?  "  echoed  Conover,  "  Why,  it's  near  ten 
o'clock,  an'  cold  as  charity.  Besides,  it'll  be  all  dark 
an'  damp  in  the  thick  part  of  the  woods." 

"  But  I'm  sure  we'll  run  across  a  ring  of  fairies, — 
or  a  satyr,  at  the  very  least.  Oh,  the  night  is  throbbing 
with  magic!  And  the  forests  are  calling.  Shan't  we 
answer  the  call  ?  " 

"  Sounds  to  me  more  like  katydids,"  he  demurred, 
"  But,  if  you  like,  we  can  take  a  stroll.  We'll  be  back 


FOREST  MADNESS  295 

in  half  an  hour  or  so,  an*  that  ought  to  be  early  enough, 
even  for  old  Mrs.  Propriety  in  there,"  with  a  nod  to 
ward  Mrs.  Hawarden's  tent,  "  But  you'll  want  some 
wrap,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I'm  warm  as  toast.  This  sweater's  so 
wudgy  and  soft;  and  it's  as  thick  as  thick  can  be. 
Come  along ! " 

Laughing  excitedly  under  their  breath,  after  the 
manner  of  school-boys  making  safe  escape  to  truancy, 
the  two  stole  away  on  tiptoe  from  the  radius  of  fire 
shine.  Rex,  waking  again  at  their  departure,  sighed 
as  devotion  dragged  him  from  sleep  and  warmth ;  and 
trotted  along  solemnly  in  the  wake  of  the  two  truants. 

Before  them  lay  a  natural  vista  winding  between 
ranks  of  black  trees.  Starlight  filtered  through,  giv 
ing  an  uncanny  glimmer  to  the  still  darkness. 

"  It  is  like  breaking  into  fairyland !  "  gasped  the  girl, 
tense  and  vibrant  with  the  hushed  wonder  of  it  all, 
"  We  are  mortals.  We  have  no  right  in  Oberon's 
domain.  But  he  sees  what  very  very  nice,  harmless 
mortals  we  are,  So  he  doesn't  change  us  to  bats  or 
fireflies.  He  justs  lets  us  trespass  all  we  want  to. 
And  perhaps  he'll  even  let  us  see  a  real  fairy.  An 
elf,  anyway." 

Caleb  laughed,  in  sheer  happiness.  Of  her  Oberon 
rigmarole  he  grasped  little.  But  he  saw  she  was  in 
childishly  wild  spirits,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  joy 
thrilled  him.  The  cold  bit  deeper  as  they  struck  rising 
ground  and  followed  the  glimmering  forest-vista  up 
ward.  Both  instinctively  quickened  their  pace  to  keep 


296  THE  FIGHTER 

from  shivering.  But  mere  cold  could  not  quench 
Desiree's  pleasure  in  the  simple  escapade. 

"  We  are  runaway  slaves ! "  she  cried,  her  mood 
shifting  from  fairyland  to  a  newer  fantasy,  "  We  are 
escaping  from  a  fearsome  Simon  Legree  named  Con 
ventionality  !  Conventionality  is  a  wicked  master  who 
has  whipped  us  and  piled  chains  on  us  ever  since  we 
were  born.  And  now  we've  put  him  to  sleep  in  two 
tents  and  we're  running  away  from  him.  He'd  be 
furious  if  he  woke  up.  But  he's  snoring  very  in 
dustriously.  And  he  surely  won't  wake, —  in  either 
tent  —  for  at  least  an  hour.  And  by  that  time  we'll 
be  safe  back  again  with  our  chains  all  nicely  riveted 
on.  And  he'll  never,  never  even  guess  we  once  tan 
away  from  him.  No, —  I'd  rather  think  we're  run 
ning  away  forever  and  ever  and  ever, —  and  then 
some  more  after  that.  And  he'll  never  find  us,  no 
matter  how  long  he  hunts.  We'll  spend  the  rest  of 
our  life  in  the  enchanted  woodland,  and  live  on  ber 
ries  and  nuts.  And  our  faithful  hound  who's  fol 
lowed  us  from  slavery  will  catch  venison  for  us.  And 
—  and  if  you  ask  him  very  politely,  Caleb,  perhaps 
he'll  catch  a  tripe  sandwich  sometimes  for  you." 

"Still  rememberin'  that  awful  break  of  mine?" 
chuckled  Caleb,  as  unreasonably  excited  as  she. 
"That  ain't  fair!" 

"  It,  wasn't  a  break !  "  she  pronounced  judgment. 
"  It  was  a  smashing  blow  at  our  Simon  Legree,  Con 
ventionality.  You  are  a  hero.  Not  a  lowly  squidge. 


FOREST  MADNESS  297 

See  how  silver  the  light  is  getting!  I'm  sure  that 
means  we're  on  the  courtyard  of  the  fairy  palace.  I 
shouldn't  be  one  atom  surprised  if  — " 

With  a  little  cry  of  alarm  she  clutched  Caleb.  From 
almost  under  her  feet  a  partridge  whirred  upward, 
his  beating  wings  rattling  through  the  stillness  like 
double  castanets.  Rex,  with  one  staccato  growl  deep 
down  in  his  throat,  gave  chase.  But  as  the  bird  ut 
terly  refused  to  fly  fair,  and  even  resorted  to  unsports 
manlike  rocketings  that  carried  it  far  up  through  the 
treetops,  the  pursuit  was  quickly  over.  Rex,  his  ruff 
a-bristle,  strutted  back  to  the  girl,  walking  on  the  tips 
of  his  toes  and  casting  baleful  glances  of  warning  to 
left  and  right  at  any  other  lurking  partridge  that  might 
be  tempted  to  brave  his  ire. 

"What  was  it?  What  was  it?"  demanded  De- 
siree,  startled  far  out  of  her  fit  of  eerie  gaiety. 

"  Maybe  'twas  one  of  those  fairies  or  satires  you 
was  hopin'  would  drop  in  on  us,"  suggested  Caleb, 
cruelly,  "  It  was  a  reel  treat  to  see  how  glad  you  was 
to  meet  him." 

"You're  horrid!"  declared  the  girl.  "As  if  any 
self-respecting  fairy  would  jump  up  with  a  noise  like 
ten  gatling  guns !  I  —  Oh,  the  silver  is  turning  gray. 
It's  fog!  The  fog  Steve  Martin  said  we'd  have  to 
night.  And  it's  coming  down  around  us  like,  like  a 
Niagara  of  —  of  — " 

"  Of  pea  soup,"  supplemented  Conover.  "  It's  thick 
enough  to  cut.  An'  ten  minutes  ago  the  sky  was 


298  THE  FIGHTER 

perfec'ly  clear.  Best  get  back  to  the  camp,  before  the 
measly  stuff  makes  us  lose  our  way.  Then  we  would 
be  in  a  sweet  fix." 

Backward  they  turned  upon  their  tracks.  Already 
the  guiding  tree  vistas  were  wiped  out.  The  two 
walked  rapidly,  pushing  along  with  no  better  guide 
than  their  sense  of  general  direction.  For  a  full  half 
hour  they  walked ;  Caleb  helping  Desiree  over  a  series 
of  fallen  trees,  gullies  and  boulders  that  neither  had 
noted  during  their  outward  journey. 

Then,  out  of  breath,  Desiree  halted. 

"  We're  not  going  the  right  way !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  We're  going  up-hill.  I  know  we  are.  I  can  tell  by 
the  feeling.  And  the  camp  lies  down  by  the  pond." 

They  struck  off  at  another  angle.  After  ten  min 
utes  of  fast,  difficult  walking,  through  the  water-thick 
mist,  Desiree  came  again  to  a  halt. 

"  This  rock,"  she  declared,  "  is  the  very  one  I  leaned 
against  when  we  stopped  before.  I'm  certain.  We've 
been  going  in  a  circle." 

"  Maybe  we  were  going  right,  in  the  first  place," 
said  Caleb.  "  On  the  way  out  we  went  up  hills  an' 
down  'em,  too.  Maybe  if  we'd  kep'  on  going  up 
ward  we'd  a  come  out  on  the  hill  above  the  camp." 

They  started  once  more;  going  purposely  upward 
this  time ;  groping  their  way  through  the  blinding  mist 
without  speaking. 

Of  a  sudden  the  fog  was  gone  from  before  them. 
A  step  or  two  farther  and  they  stood  on  a  hilltop,  under 
the  stars. 


FOREST  MADNESS  299 

Desiree  sank  wearied  on  the  stump  of  a  twin  tree, 
her  back  against  the  trunk  of  the  unfelled  half.  Caleb 
glanced  about  to  locate  the  camp.  His  exclamation  of 
wonder  brought  the  tired  girl  to  her  feet. 

It  was  no  hilltop  they  stood  on.  It  was  a  tiny  island 
jutting  upward  out  of  an  immeasurable  sea.  In  the 
distance  to  either  hand  rose  similar  islets.  Above  was 
the  cloudless  sky.  Below,  lay  that  vast  waveless  deep. 

"  It's  the  fog ! "  cried  the  girl,  finding  her  voice  as 
the  marvel  explained  itself.  "  Don't  you  see?  It  lies 
low,  over  the  water  and  the  valley.  And  we're  above 
it.  It  has  settled  down  over  everything  like  a  white 
cloud.  But  some  of  the  hilltops  pierce  the  top  of  it. 
We're  '  above  the  clouds !'  "  she  quoted,  laughing ;  her 
spirits  coming  back  with  her  returning  strength. 

"  We're  above  that  one,  anyhow,"  assented  Con- 
over.  "  You're  right.  But  where's  the  camp  ?  " 

"  Down  there,  somewhere,"  she  replied,  vaguely. 

"  But  how  can  we  find  it  ?  "  he  urged.  "  We  don't 
know  which  side  of  this  hill  it's  on.  It  may  be  five 
miles  away.  If  we  go  down,  the  chances  are  a  million 
to  one  we  won't  strike  it.  An'  then  we'll  have  to  wan 
der  'round  all  night  in  that  slimy  white  cloud,  like 
we've  been  doin'  for  the  past  hour.  We're  up  against 
it,  girl." 

"  I  wouldn't  spend  another  hour  in  that  mist  for  a 
fortune,"  she  shuddered.  "  It  stifled  me ;  and  hideous 
woozzey  faces  seemed  to  be  peering  at  us  out  of  it. 
I  could  hear  invisible  things  whispering  all  around 
us.  Ugh!" 


goo  THE  FIGHTER 

Caleb  filled  his  lungs  and  shouted  across  the  sea  of 
mist.  Again  and  again  he  bellowed  forth  his  long- 
drawn  halloo.  To  anyone  on  the  nearer  hill-top 
islands  his  call  might  readily  have  been  heard.  But 
human  voice  could  as  readily  have  penetrated  a  moun 
tain  of  cotton-batting  as  carry  sound  through  that 
waste  of  cloud-reek. 

At  length  the  two  fugitives  realized  this.  A  last 
shout,  a  final  straining  of  ears  for  some  answering  cry ; 
then  Conover  turned  again  to  the  girl. 

"  They  wouldn't  hear  us  a  hundred  yards  away," 
said  he,  "  even  if  they  was  awake.  We'll  have  to, — 
Why,  you're  shiverin' !  " 

To  Desiree  the  glow  of  the  long  climb  was  giving 
place  to  the  chill  air  of  the  Adirondack  autumn  night. 
Her  teeth  were  chattering ;  but  she  bravely  scouted  the 
idea  of  discomfort. 

Nevertheless,  in  an  instant  Caleb  had  whipped  off 
his  thick  mackintosh  and  wrapped  her  in  its  huge  folds. 
She  vainly  protested  that  he  must  not  rob  himself;  but 
the  cozy  comfort  of  the  big  garment  as  well  as  his  flat 
refusal  to  let  her  remove  it  soon  silenced  her  objec 
tions.  Conover  had  taken  charge  of  the  situation.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  minute  to  scratch  together  an  arm 
ful  of  twigs,  chips  and  small  boughs, —  relics  of  the 
hewn  tree, —  to  thrust  under  the  heap  a  crumpled  letter 
from  his  pocket,  and  to  set  a  match  to  the  impromptu 
fire. 

Then,  as  the  twigs  crackled  and  blazed,  he  scoured 
the  hilltop  for  larger  wood.  Half  rotted  logs  that 


FOREST  MADNESS  301 

would  smoulder  like  peat,  huge  tree  branches  that  must 
be  dragged  instead  of  carried  to  the  fire;  a  bulky 
length  of  lumber  overlooked  when  the  tree  had  been 
cut  up  and  carted  away.  These  and  lesser  fuel  served 
in  an  amazingly  short  time  to  turn  the  sputtering  flame- 
lets  into  a  roaring  camp-fire. 

Piece  after  piece  of  his  gathered  wood  Caleb  fed  to 
the  blaze;  Desiree  leaning  back,  deliciously  warm  and 
happy,  to  encourage  the  labor.  A  second  journey  into 
the  dark  and  Conover  was  back  with  more  fuel,  which 
he  piled  in  reserve  beyond  the  reach  of  the  flame 
tongues. 

"  You  work  like  a  veteran  woodsman,"  she  praised. 

"  Why  wouldn't  I  ?  "  he  puffed,  dragging  in  a  new 
bunch  of  long  boughs  for  the  reserve  pile.  "  I  had  to 
hustle  fires  an'  grub  for  the  section  gang,  ten  months  or 
more,  when  I  was  a  youngster.  That's  why  it  seems 
funny  to  me  that  folks  should  pay  big  money  for  a 
chance  of  chasin'  out  to  the  wilderness  an'  doin'  the 
chores  /  used  to  get  $1.85  a  day  for.  Still,  once  in  a 
lifetime,  it  comes  in  handy  to  know  how." 

The  heat  was  fierce.  Caleb  drew  back  from  the 
fire,  mopping  his  red  face.  Then  he  took  off  his 
tweed  jacket.  Crossing  to  Desiree,  he  lifted  his  mack 
intosh  from  her  shoulders  and  made  her  put  on  the 
jacket.  The  latter's  hem  fell  to  her  knees.  Conover 
rolled  back  its  sleeves  until  her  engulfed  hands  were 
once  more  visible.  Then  he  spread  the  mackintosh  on 
the  ground  near  the  fire;  incidentally  dislodging  Rex 
from  a  carefully  chosen  bed. 


302  THE  FIGHTER 

"  There !  "  proclaimed  the  Fighter.  "  That's  done. 
Now  you've  a  camp  bed.  Lay  down  on  that  mack 
intosh  an'  I'll  wrap  you  up  in  it.  You  won't  catch 
cold,  even  if  the  fire  dies  out.  Which  same  it  won't; 
for  I'm  goin'  to  set  up  an'  keep  it  burnin'." 

"  In  other  words,"  she  said  with  the  stern  air  of  re 
buke  that  he  loved,  "  I  am  going  to  curl  up  in  all  the 
wraps  there  are  and  go  fast  to  sleep,  while  you  sit  up 
all  night  long  and  keep  the  fire  going?  I  think  I  see 
myself  doing  it! " 

"  If  we  had  a  lookin'  glass  along,"  he  answered,  un 
ruffled,  "  you  could.  As  it  is,  you'll  just  have  to  take 
my  word  for  it.  I'll  set  back  on  that  stump  where 
you  are  now,  an'  I'll  have  that  big  trunk  to  rest  my 
head  on.  An'  I'll  sleep  a  blamed  sight  better'n  I  ever 
do  in  a  Pullman.  When  I  feel  cold  I'll  know  the  fire's 
dyin'  down  an'  I'll  get  up  an'  tend  it,  an'  then  go  to 
sleep  again.  It's  a  — " 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort !  "  contradicted  De- 
siree.  "I'll—" 

"  Listen,  you  little  girl,"  put  in  Caleb  with  rough 
tenderness.  "  I  like  nothin'  so  well,  as  a  rule,  as  to  let 
you  boss  me.  But  here's  the  one  time  that  I'm  goin' 
to  do  the  bossin'.  You're  tired  out,  an'  you're  li'ble  to 
take  cold  unless  you  keep  wrapped  up  an'  get  a  good 
comf'tble  sleep.  An'  you're  goin'  to  get  it.  Don't 
you  worry  'bout  me,  neither.  By  the  time  I've  been 
restin'  'gainst  that  tree  trunk  five  minutes  I'll  be  in  the 
arms  of  old  Morpheus.  It  seems  a  kind  of  measly 


FOREST  MADNESS  303 

trick  to  put  up  on  Morpheus,  whoever  he  may  be.     But 
it's  what  I'm  goin'  to  do." 

The  quiet  mastery  of  the  man  permitted  no  argu 
ment.  Indeed,  Desiree  for  some  strange  reason  felt 
herself  inaccountably  stirred  by  it. 

"  Now,"  he  went  on,  "  one  more  armful  of  this  stuff 
on  the  pile  an'  then  I'll  warm  the  mackintosh  for  you 
by  the  fire  an'  let  you  go  to  sleep.  I  wish  I'd  wore  a 
vest  to-day." 

"  Why  ?     Oh,  you're  cold !     You  need  this  — " 

"  No.  I'd  like  it  to  roll  up  into  a  pillow  for  you. 
I'm  warm,  all  right.  An'  this  fire'll  stay  goin'  all 
night  if  I  feed  it  up  once  or  twice  before  mornin'." 

He  picked  up  one  of  the  longer  boughs  and  swung  it 
onto  the  blaze.  The  sweep  of  his  arm  sent  the  end  of 
the  branch  against  Desiree.  She  was  rising  from  her 
tree-stump  seat,  at  the  moment ;  and  the  impact  of  the 
strong-swung  bushy  end  of  the  bough  threw  her  off 
her  balance.  Not  in  the  least  hurt,  she  nevertheless 
lost  her  footing  and  fell,  with  an  exclamation  of  dis 
may,  to  the  ground. 

At  her  cry,  Caleb  turned.  Realizing  that  he  had 
knocked  her  down  and  fearful  lest  she  be  badly  bruised 
by  the  blow,  he  sprang  forward ;  and  with  a  volley  of 
loud  self-reproach,  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

The  grip  of  his  powerful  arms  gave  Desiree  a  sense 
of  utter  peace  and  protection.  That  and  something 
more.  Something  she  could  not  —  would  not  —  ana 
lyze.  Unresisting,  she  let  her  body  rest  inert  in  his 


304  THE  FIGHTER 

mighty  grasp  the  fraction  of  an  instant  longer  than  was 
perhaps  really  needful. 

And  in  that  atom  of  time  the  mischief  was  made. 

Conover  was  staring  down  at  her  in  eager  solicitude ; 
still  begging  her  to  tell  him  if  she  were  hurt.  She 
looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met.  Hers  were  sick  with  a 
love  that  transfigured  her.  And  before  their  gaze, 
Conover's  heavy  face  went  blank;  then  filled  with  a 
light  of  wonder  and  utter  rapture  that  fairly  fright 
ened  the  girl. 

His  arms  tightened  about  her  in  a  clasp  that  robbed 
her  of  breath, —  and  of  all  will  to  breathe.  She  felt 
herself  crushed  against  the  man's  chest,  and  her  up 
turned  face  was  buried  in  fierce  ecstatic  kisses.  Kisses 
wildly  awkward  and  vehement ;  those  of  a  man  unused 
to  giving  or  receiving  caresses.  Kisses  that  kindled  in 
the  girl  a  swift  bliss  that  blinded, —  enthralled  her. 

For  a  moment  Desiree  stood  moveless,  leaning  back 
limply  in  the  iron  arms  that  bound  her  to  her  lover's 
breast.  His  kisses  rained  down  on  her  rapt,  white 
face ;  upon  her  wide,  starry  eyes,  her  loosened  hair. 

Then,  with  a  gasping  murmur  of  joy  she  could  not 
put  into  words,  she  suddenly  threw  her  arms  about 
Conover's  thick  neck  and  gave  him  kiss  for  kiss.  The 
rank  scent  of  tobacco  upon  his  lips, —  the  bristle  of  a 
day-old  beard, —  the  ugly  face  itself  with  its  under 
shot  jaw,  its  square,  crude  massiveness, —  all  these 
things  were  nothing.  Behind  them  she  read  and  glo 
ried  in  the  love  that  blazed  in  the  Fighter's  pale  eyes. 


FOREST  MADNESS  305 

That  was  all  she  saw, —  had  ever  seen, —  would  ever 
see. 

Whether  for  a  minute  or  for  a  century  the  two 
stood  clasped  heart  to  heart,  soul  to  soul,  neither  could 
ever  remember.  At  last  the  great  arms  released  her. 
The  triumphant  love  that  shone  in  Conover's  face  was 
again  tinged  with  a  wonder  that  was  almost  reverence. 

"Why  in  blazes  didn't  we  know  this  before?"  he 
demanded,  hoarse  and  shaking. 

"Speak  for  yourself!"  sobbed  the  girl.  "I've 
known  it  always,  always,  always!  Ever  since  I  was  a 
child.  Every  minute  since  then.  There's  just  been 
you!  Nothing  else  counted.  And  —  and  you 
never  — " 

"  Never  cared  ?  "  he  guessed.  "  Girl,  I've  cared  so 
much  it  was  the  life  of  me.  An'  because  it  was  the 
life  I  lived  n*  the  breath  I  breathed,  I  didn't  even 
guess  it.  Never  once.  Oh  it's  like  I'd  been  trav'lin' 
through  heaven  blin' folded.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
Why  wasn't  it  like  this  two  years  ago?  Dey,  if  I'd 
known  —  if  I'd  understood  I  felt  that  way  'bout  you, 
I'd  a' — no,  I  wouldn't,  either.  I'd  a  kep'  away  for 
fear  of  breakin'  my  heart.  For  it  wouldn't  a'  seemed 
possible  you  could  love  me.  Say  you  love  me,  girl !  " 
he  ordered,  fiercely.  "  Say  it  over  an'  over  —  a  lot  of 
times ! " 

"Love  you?"  murmured  Desiree,  her  sobs  dying 
away.  "  Love  you  ?  —  Why, —  !  " 

With  a  sudden  passion  of  adoration  she  flung  her 


306  THE  FIGHTER 

arms  again  about  his  neck,  straining  him  close  to  her. 
She  could  not  speak.  She  could  only  press  her  soft, 
hot  face  close  —  ever  so  close  —  to  his  rough  cheek; 
and  cling  fast  to  him  as  though  she  feared  he  might 
vanish,  dreamlike,  from  her  clasp. 

"  When  you  went  away,"  he  continued  after  a  di 
vine  silence,  "  it  was  like  the  heart  of  me  had  been 
torn  out.  I  didn't  know  what  ailed  me.  I  thought  it 
was  a  craze  to  work.  An'  I  worked  till  I  set  all  Gran 
ite  to  totterin'.  An'  all  the  time  it  was  you, —  you! 
Then  when  I  saw  you  again,  there  at  the  station  in  the 
mist,  it  seemed  like  I'd  come  home.  I  wanted  to  catch 
hold  of  your  dress  an'  beg  you  never  to  get  out  of  my 
sight  again.  An'  I  was  ashamed  of  feelin'  that  way, 
an'  I  was  afraid  you'd  find  out  an'  laugh  at  me.  I  was 
wild  in  love  with  you,  girl, —  an'  I  never  knew  it.  Did 
—  did  you  know  I  was?  " 

"  I  always  knew  it/'  she  whispered.  "  I  knew  you 
loved  me.  That  you  cared  almost  as  much  as  I  cared. 
But  you  never  even  suspected.  And, —  oh,  how  could 
7  tell  you?" 

Again  they  were  silent  for  a  space.  Then  she  said, 
a  little  timidly: 

"  God  meant  us  for  each  other,  dear  love.  I  be 
lieve  in  such  things.  And  so  must  you.  And  we 
have  found  each  other  at  last.  Here,  alone,  on  the 
top  of  the  world.  Just  as  He  meant  us  to.  Oh,  I 
must  be  good  —  so  good  —  if  I  am  to  deserve  all 
this." 

"  Deserve  it?  "  he  echoed  in  choked  amaze.     "  Girl, 


FOREST  MADNESS  307 

you  make  me  feel  like  hidin'  my  head  somewheres. 
What  is  there  in  all  this  for  you?  I'm  a  rough,  un- 
eddicated  chap  that  most  folks  look  down  on,  an'  the 
rest  don't  look  at,  at  all.  I  got  nothin'  but  my  money 
an' — Oh,  Dey,  I  got  you!  An'  I'm  the  happiest  man 
that  ever  got  lost  in  this  measly,  heavenly  wilderness. 
It  ain't  true.  An'  presently  I'll  wake  up.  But  while 
it  lasts  — " 

"  It  will  last  forever,  darling,"  she  interposed, 
"  Forever  and  a  day.  We  couldn't  be  brought  to 
gether  like  this,  just  to  be  parted  again.  Even  Fate 
couldn't  be  as  cruel  as  that.  Tell  me  why  you  didn't 
know  you  loved  me.  Sometimes,  when  you  used  to 
talk  about  marrying  —  someone  else, —  I  had  to  bite 
my  lips  to  keep  from  calling  to  you  —  'You  can't! 
It's  I  you  love!'" 

"Why  didn't  you,  then?  You  saw  me  stumblin' 
along  in  the  dark.  Why  did  you  let  me  do  it,  when  if 
you'd  said  the  first  word  —  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  said  it  some  day.  I  know  I  should. 
Some  day  before  it  was  too  late.  Oh,  beloved,  did  you 
really  think  I  was  going  to  let  you  marry  —  her? 
Why  even  she  knew  better." 

Conover  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  long  and 
loud.  A  laugh  of  absolute  boyish  happiness  that  rang 
out  over  the  miles  of  fog  like  a  challenge  to  Fate. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  gurgled.  "  Gener'lly  it  gets  me 
wild  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  But  this  is  the  dandiest 
joke  ever.  The  whole  crowd  was  on,  you  say? 
Ev'rybody  but  me !  " 


308  THE  FIGHTER 

He  grew  grave  and  drew  her  to  him  once  more. 
Not  impetuously  now,  but  with  a  gentle  reverence. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  I  ain't  fit  to  kiss  one  of 
those  soaked  little  mocc'sins  of  yours.  I  never  wor 
ried  much,  before,  'bout  such  things;  —  but  now  —  I 
kind  of  wish  I'd  done  diff'rent  in  lots  of  things ;  so's  I 
could  tell  you  I  was  reely  worth  your  marryin'.  But 
if  you'll  help  me,  Dey,  I'm  goin'  to  be  everything 
you'd  want.  An'  one  of  these  days  I'll  make  you 
proud  of  me." 

"  I'm  prouder  of  you  now,  dear, —  and  I've  always 
been  prouder  —  than  I  could  be  of  any  other  man 
alive,"  she  insisted.  "Oh,  the  miracle  of  it!" 

Before  he  could  stay  her,  or  so  much  as  guess  her 
intent,  she  had  slipped  to  her  knees.  Stooping  to 
raise  her,  he  saw  her  hands  were  clasped  and  her  lips 
moving.  Awed,  he  drew  back  a  pace,  and  looked 
timidly  upward  into  the  Star  Country.  Then,  shutting 
his  eyes  very  tight  he  opened  communication  with 
Heaven  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life. 

"  Thanks !  "  he  muttered  under  his  breath. 

A  pause  of  mental  hiatus, —  a  helpless  groping  for 
words  in  a  wild  universe  of  incoherent  gratitude;  — 
then  once  more  a  mumbled,  shy  "  Thanks !  " —  and  the 
prayer, —  two  words  in  all, —  was  ended. 

It  is  possible  that  longer,  more  eloquent  orisons  than 
his  have  penetrated  less  far  beyond  the  frontier  of  the 
stars  and  less  close  to  the  ear  of  the  Hearer  and  An 
swerer. 


FOREST  MADNESS  309 

Desiree  had  risen.  Simply,  half -shyly,  like  two  lit 
tle  children,  they  kissed  each  other. 

"  Now  you  must  go  to  sleep,"  he  ordered,  picking 
up  the  mackintosh  and  wrapping  it  closely  about  her. 

"To  sleep!"  she  echoed.  "After  this?  I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  throw  away  happy  hours  again  by 
sleeping  through  them.  I  couldn't  sleep  now  to  save 
my  life,  even  if  I  wanted  to.  And  I  don't  want  to. 
Please  let  me  do  the  bossing  just  a  little  longer,  dear 
heart." 

He  had  flung  another  armful  of  wood  upon  the  fire. 
Now,  picking  Desiree  up  as  he  might  have  lifted  a 
baby,  he  returned  to  the  stump  seat.  Holding  her  in 
his  arms,  close  to  his  breast,  he  sat  there,  and  gazed 
into  the  flames. 

Tired,  deliriously  content,  she  nestled  to  him  with  a 
sigh  of  absolute  rapture.  There  they  remained ;  still ; 
ineffably  beatific;  at  rest;  while  the  fire  snapped  mer 
rily  and  the  dog  at  their  feet  growlingly  pursued  num 
berless  coveys  of  low-flying  partridges  through  the 
aisles  of  dreamland.  Then  — 

"  I  don't  s'pose  I'll  ever  reely  understand  it,"  mused 
Caleb.  "  Here  I've  always  been  thinkin'  I  looked  on 
you  like  you  were  my  daughter  an'  that  I  was  a  million 
years  older'n  you'd  ever  get  to  be.  An'  now  in  just 
one  second  the  whole  world  turns  inside  out,  an'  I  land 
in  heaven ;  I'm  talkin'  'bout  *  heaven  '  to-night  like  any 
sky-scout,  ain't  I?  But  it  sort  of  seems  the  only 
word." 


3io  THE  FIGHTER 

"  It  is  very  near  us,"  she  made  reply,  softly. 
"  See,"  raising  herself  in  his  arms  and  looking  out 
over  the  star-gleaming  mists  below  them.  "  See,  the 
world  is  new.  The  seas  have  swept  over  all  its  old 
sins  and  follies  and  sordid  workaday  life.  This 
island  stands  alone  in  the  universe.  All  the  rest  is  en 
gulfed.  And  you  and  I  are  the  only  people  on  God's 
new  earth.  We  have  risen  above  the  old  life  of  mis 
takes  and  blindness.  Here, —  alone  —  in  our  new 
marvel  world, —  forever  and  ever." 

Her  head  sank  on  his  breast.  He  buried  his  face  in 
the  fragrant  wonder  of  her  hair.  And  once  more  they 
fell  silent. 

"  There  ain't  a  thing  I  won't  do  for  you,  girl,"  went 
on  Conover,  by  and  by.  "  All  by  myself  I've  got  rich 
an'  I've  won  ev'ry  fight  I've  made.  With  you  to 
work  for  I'll  hammer  away  at  Old  Man  Dest'ny  till 
I've  got  the  whole  State  in  my  vest  pocket.  Yes,  an' 
I'll  try  for  the  White  House,  too,  before  I'm  done;  if 
you'd  like  me  to.  We're  goin'  to  build  the  biggest, 
most  expensive  house,  right  off,  that  was  ever  put  up 
in  Granite.  We'll  build  it  on  Pompton  Av'noo,  right 
in  the  thick  of  the  swells.  White  marble  we'll  make 
it.  An'  you'll  have  all  the  servants  an'  horses  an' 
joolry  an'  everything  else  you  want.  There  won't  be  a 
thing  money  can  buy  that  you  can't  have.  I'll  fight 
the  whole  world  till  I've  piled  up  such  a  fortune  as'll 
make  those  great  big  eyes  of  yours  dazzled.  An'  it'll 
all  be  for  you.  All  yours." 

"  You     darling     old     schoolboy ! "     she     laughed. 


FOREST  MADNESS  311 

"  Even  your  daydreams  are  studded  with  dollar  signs. 
What  do  you  suppose  I  care  for  such  things  ?  I  have 
you,  and  we're  to  be  together  always  and  always. 
What  else  could  I  want?  And,  dear,"  more  gravely, 
"  I'd  rather  we  stayed  just  as  we  are  and  not  try  for 
more  wealth  or  more  power.  I  seem  to  see  such  things 
in  a  new  way  to-night.  Every  dollar  you  win,  every 
forward  step  in  fame  or  fortune  that  you  take,  may 
mean  unhappiness  for  someone  who  is  less  lucky. 
And,  we  are  so  happy,  heart  of  mine,  that  we  can 
surely  let  others  be  happy,  too.  Can't  we?  Let  us 
be  content  where  we  stand.  You  are  so  rich  already 
that  everyone  envies  you.  Don't  let's  turn  that  envy 
into  hatred  by  wringing  more  from  people  who  al 
ready  have  less  than  we.  It  will  make  me  so  much 
comfortabler  to  feel  we  are  using  our  wealth  for  hap 
piness.  Both  for  our  own  and  for  other  peoples'. 
Am  I  talking  like  a  goody-goody  Sunday  School 
teacher?  I  don't  mean  to.  But  I  know  my  way  is 
best." 

"  It's  always  best,"  he  agreed  after  a  moment. 
"  An'  even  if  it  wasn't,  it's  your  way;  and  so  it  goes. 
We'll  do  whatever  you  say.  It'll  seem  queer  to  stop 
fightin'.  But, —  it'll  seem  nice,  too.  I  never  thought 
I'd  feel  that  way.  But  I  do  now.  An'  I  always  shall, 
while  you're  by  me.  You  can  do  anything  you  want 
to  with  me.  You  always  could,  an'  you  always  can." 

"  Your  arms  are  so  big  —  so  strong,"  murmured 
Desiree.  "  I  seem  to  be  in  a  fortress  where  no  ill  can 
ever  get  to  me.  I'm  home! " 


3i2  THE  FIGHTER 

He  wrapped  the  coat  more  closely  about  her  and 
held  her  tenderly  as  a  mother,  reverently  as  a  priest 
might  bear  the  Host.  And  after  a  time,  as  she  lay 
against  his  broad  breast,  the  long  curling  fringe  of 
her  eyelashes  began  to  waver.  Sleepily  she  lifted  her 
face. 

"  Kiss  me  good  night,"  she  said,  her  voice  slow  with 
drowsiness. 

The  fire  died  down  and  the  ring  of  heat-ramparts 
it  had  reared  against  the  autumn  cold  crumbled 
away.  The  sleeping  girl  rested  cozily  warm  in  Con- 
over's  arms.  The  man,  his  back  against  the  tree,  sat 
motionless;  fearing  by  the  slightest  move  to  disturb 
her  sleep. 

He  dared  not  rise  to  replenish  the  smouldering  fire. 
He  was  coatless,  and  the  growing  cold  gnawed  with 
increasing  keenness  through  the  thin  negligee  shirt, 
into  his  arms  and  shoulders.  It  was  the  coldest  night 
he  had  known  since  his  arrival  at  the  Adirondacks. 

As  the  last  flame  died  down  upon  the  bed  of  red- 
gray  coals,  Rex  woke  with  a  quiver  of  chilliness,  crept 
close  to  the  embers  and  lay  down  again.  Caleb,  first 
making  sure  the  movement  had  not  disturbed  Desiree, 
fell  to  envying  the  dog.  The  cold  had  sank  into  his 
very  bones.  The  impossibility  of  shifting  his  stilted 
position  galled  him,  as  the  endless  hours  crept  by. 
Cramped,  half  frozen,  racked  with  the  agony  of  stif 
fening  muscles  and  of  blood  that  could  no  longer 
circulate,  he  clenched  his  teeth  over  his  underlip  from 
sheer  pain.  The  girl,  who  at  first  had  lain  feather- 


FOREST  MADNESS  313 

like  in  his  arms,  now  seemed  heavy  enough  to  tear 
loose  his  throbbing  biceps.  Nor  would  he,  for  all  the 
physical  anguish  of  his  plight,  move  her  body  one  hair's 
breadth. 

And  so,  like  a  sleepless  Galahad  before  some  old 
world  forest  shrine, —  like  Stylites  on  his  pillar, — 
worshipping  yet  in  infinite  suffering, —  he  sat  the  long 
night  through. 

At  length  his  body  grew  numb,  his  blood  congested. 
Aching  discomfort  and  cold  had  wrought  their  worst 
on  his  frame  of  iron  and  had  left  it  hardily  impervious 
to  further  ill.  His  mind,  when  bodily  surcease  came, 
awoke  to  new  activity.  His  thoughts,  at  first  dis 
jointed  and  wonderingly  happy,  settled  down  soon  to 
their  wonted  sharp  clearness.  Then  it  was  he  coolly 
weighed  this  thing  he  had  done.  . 

It  was  like  him  to  array  in  battle-order  all  the  con 
trary  arguments  of  the  case;  that  with  the  brute  force 
of  his  domination  he  might  batter  them  to  pieces.  And 
a  long  array  they  were. 

First, —  his  own  social  yearnings,  his  golden 
dreams  of  a  secure  place  within  the  inner  charmed 
circle  of  Granite  society!  The  only  road  of  ingress 
had  been  through  marriage  with  a  daughter  of  that 
circle.  Preferably  with  Letty  Standish.  Now  all  that 
was  out  of  the  question.  Desiree  herself  was  popular. 
But  he  knew  she  could  not  drag  up  to  social  promi 
nence  a  man  like  himself.  She  had  not  family  nor 
other  prestige  for  such  a  tremendous  uplift.  Nor,  as 
she  herself  had  said,  did  she  value  such  position. 


314  THE  FIGHTER 

Had  sEe  married  Hawarden,  Caine  or  any  of  a  half 
dozen  other  eligible  Granite  men,  Desiree's  own  place 
in  society  would  straightway  have  become  more  than 
assured.  With  Conover  as  a  husband,  she  must  take 
rank  —  or  lack  of  rank  —  with  him.  Nothing  higher 
could  be  in  store  for  her.  Forever,  Caleb  must  assail 
the  circle  in  vain,  or  else  sink  back  content  with  his 
own  lot  far  outside  its  radius. 

The  very  fact  that  he  was  married, —  and  married 
to  an  outsider  who  would  not  second  his  attack, — 
would  render  the  walls  of  society  impregnable  against 
him.  As  a  single  man, —  with  money  and  with  the 
power  to  use  the  money  as  a  battering  ram, —  he  had 
already  knocked  great  breaches  in  the  fortifications. 
Now  he  could  never  pass  triumphant  through  those 
gaps. 

A  life-ambition, —  all  compelling  even  if  unworthy 
of  a  strong  man, —  was  wilfully  to  be  foregone.  He, 
who  had  ever  fought  with  all  that  was  within  him  for 
the  gratification  of  his  few  desires,  must  now  forever 
abandon  the  earliest  and  greatest  of  them  all.  On  the 
very  eve  of  his  career's  most  complete  victory  he  must 
for  all  time  lay  aside  the  sword. 

Something  like  a  sigh  broke  from  between  his  blue- 
cold  lips.  The  sound  made  the  girl  stir  ever  so 
slightly  in  her  sleep.  Caleb  glanced  down  in  alarm, 
dreading  lest  he  had  broken  her  slumber.  There, 
against  his  arm  rested  Desiree's  upturned  face.  The 
dark  silken  lashes  lay  peacefully  above  the  sleep-flushed 
cheeks.  She  was  so  little,  so  helpless,  so  wonderful, 


FOREST  MADNESS  315 

to  the  eyes  bending  above  her !  Inexpressibly  precious 
to  him  always;  a  thousand- fold  more  so,  now,  in  the 
hour  of  his  renunciation  of  all  else  for  love  of  her. 

A  wave  of  undreamed-of  tenderness  swept  over 
Conover;  possessing  him  to  the  utter  extinction  of 
every  other  thought  or  passion;  sweeping  away  in  its 
headlong  rush  all  vestige  of  doubts  and  regrets.  In 
an  instant  of  blinding  soul-light  he  saw  once  and  for 
all  the  futility  of  what  he  had  abandoned;  the  God- 
given  marvel  of  what  he  had  won  in  its  place. 

The  battle  was  over.  Caleb  Conover  had  lost  — 
and  won.  In  his  heart  he  knew  he  was  no  longer  the 
Fighter;  no  more  a  seeker  for  Dead-Sea  Fruit.  His 
battles,  social  and  financial,  were  at  an  end.  This 
coming  clash  at  the  Legislature, —  this  mission  on 
which  Desiree  was  dispatching  him,  her  true  knight, 
to  save  the  fortunes  of  others, —  should  be  his  last 
field.  After  that,  a  new,  strange  peace!  —  and  De 
siree  ! 

Defiantly,  Conover  glared  out  into  the  night,  beyond 
the  smoking  remnant  of  the  fire;  as  though  challeng 
ing  the  ghosts  of  slain  ambitions  to  rise  again  before 
him  that  he  might  confound  them  all  by  merely  point 
ing  at  the  girl  who  slept  in  his  arms.  She  —  the  mere 
sight  of  her  —  should  be  his  reply  to  their  taunts. 

Something  in  his  own  look  or  attitude  stirred  a  latent 
chord  of  memory.  He  recalled,  by  an  odd  turn  of 
thought,  a  double-page  drawing  in  one  of  the  English 
weeklies  that  he  had  long  ago  seen  at  Desiree's :  — 

A  rocky  hillock  whereon  sat  a  man  clad  in  skins ;  — - 


316  THE  FIGHTER 

in  his  arms  an  unconscious  woman  whose  long  hair 
streamed  over  her  loose  robe ;  —  confronting  the  twain 
a  shadowy,  armored  goddess  into  whose  commanding 
eyes  the  skin-clad  man  was  staring  with  an  awed  cour 
age  born  of  desperation.  Beneath  the  picture  were  the 
lines : 

"So  grusse  mir  Wdhall!  Griisse  mir  Wo  tan! 
Griisse  mir  W'dlse  und  alle  Helden!  Zu  ihnen  jolg' 
ich  dir  nicht!" 

Desiree  had  translated  the  words  for  Caleb.  She 
had  told  him  the  pictured  man  was  Siegmund;  who, 
pausing  in  his  flight  to  a  place  of  refuge,  with  the 
fainting  Sieglinde  whom  he  loved,  beheld  the  Valkyr, 
Brunhilde,  and  was  told  by  her  that  a  hero's  death 
and  a  hero's  reward  in  Valhalla  were  in  store  for  him. 
There  in  the  Viking  Paradise,  waited  the  warrior- 
parent  he  had  lost ;  there  Wotan  the  All-Father  would 
welcome  him.  The  Valkyries  were  preparing  his 
place.  The  heroes  of  olden  days  would  be  his  boon 
companions. 

And  Siegmund,  the  Luckless,  heard  with  joy.  But 
one  question  he  asked  the  goddess :  —  Would  Sieg 
linde,  his  fellow  fugitive,  join  him  in  that  abode  of  the 
blest?  Brunhilde  scoffingly  replied  that  Valhalla  was 
for  heroes;  not  for  mere  women.  Then,  unflinch 
ingly  casting  aside  his  every  hope  of  Paradise,  Sieg 
mund  kissed  the  senseless  woman's  brow;  and,  again 
facing  the  goddess,  made  answer : 

"  Greet  for  me  Valhalla !  Greet  for  me  Wotan ! 
Greet  for  me  my  father  and  all  the  heroes !  To  them, 


FOREST  MADNESS  317 

I'll  follow  thee  not!  Where  Sieglinde  bides,  there 
shall  Siegmund  stay." 

Caleb  at  the  time  had  been  but  mildly  interested  in 
the  tale.  The  fact  that  Desiree  could  translate  such 
queer-looking  words  was  to  him  the  most  noteworthy 
feature  of  the  whole  affair.  Now,  with  a  whimsical 
comparison  to  his  own  case,  the  incident  recurred  to 
him. 

Was  he  not,  like  Siegmund,  keeping  watch  and  ward 
in  the  wilderness  over  the  unconscious  woman  of  his 
heart?  Was  not  the  Brunhilde  of  ambition  standing 
there  somewhere  in  the  mystic  star-shadows  before 
him,  pointing  out  all  that  might  be  his  were  he  to  re 
nounce  love?  And  was  he  not  making  reply  as  defi 
antly,  if  perhaps  not  in  quite  such  highflown  terms,  as 
had  that  Dutch  chap  in  the  bearskin  clothes  ? 

The  idea  tickled  Conover's  torpid  imagination;  he 
dwelt  upon  it  with  some  pride  at  his  own  powers  of 
analogy.  Then  he  fell  to  dreaming  of  his  vast  new 
happiness,  of  the  golden  vista  that  stretched  before 
him  and  Desiree.  And  again  a  wonder,  almost  holy, 
filled  his  heart. 

The  night  voices  ceased.  Brunhilde,  piqued  at  such 
unwonted  obstinacy  from  one  who  had  ever  here 
tofore  been  her  slave,  had  scuttled  back  to  Valhalla  in 
a  fine  fit  of  rage ;  leaving  this  latter  day  Siegmund  and 
Sieglinde  to  their  own  foolish,  self-chosen  fate.  The 
cold  pressed  in  more  and  more  cruelly  as  the  night 
waned.  It  pierced  at  times  through  Caleb's  numbness. 
He  had  great  ado  to  keep  his  teeth  from  chattering  so 


318  THE  FIGHTER 

loudly  as  to  wake  the  exhausted  girl  on  his  breast. 
The  stars  grew  dim.  The  dawn  wind  breathed 
across  the  sky.  A  paleness  crept  over  the  eastern 
horizon  of  the  fog-sea.  The  man's  heavy  head 
nodded;  —  once  —  and  again, —  then  hung  still. 

With  a  sensation  of  being  stared  at,  Caleb  Conover 
opened  his  eyes.  The  pale  shimmer  in  the  east  had 
given  place  to  gray  dawn.  The  dawn-wind,  too,  had 
waxed  stronger;  sweeping  the  fog  before  it.  No 
longer  were  the  man  and  woman  on  an  island ;  but  on 
a  hill  top  whence  on  every  side  stretched  away  leagues 
of  dull  green  landscape.  Only  over  the  pond  did  the 
mist  still  hover.  Directly  below,  not  a  quarter  mile 
away,  lay  the  camp. 

Nor  were  they  alone  on  their  wonder-hill.  On-  the 
far  side  of  the  dead  fire  Jack  Hawarden  stood  eyeing 
them.  And  his  face  was  as  gray  and  as  lifeless  as 
the  strewn  ashes  at  his  feet. 

Conover  and  the  lad  looked  at  each  other  without 
speaking.  Long  and  expressionlessly  Jack  gazed  at 
the  waking  and  the  sleeping.  Conover  noted  that  the 
boy's  eyes  were  haggard  and  that  the  youth  and  jollity 
had  been  stricken  from  his  face  as  by  a  blow.  It  was 
Hawarden  who  spoke  first : 

"  No  one  down  there  is  awake  yet,"  he  said,  whis 
pering  so  low  that  the  girl's  slumber  was  not  broken. 
"  I  woke  up  and  missed  you.  I  came  out  of  the  tent 
and  saw  you  up  here.  I  didn't  know  when  you  would 


FOREST  MADNESS  319 

wake  and  I  was  afraid  the  others  might  see.  So  I 
came.  Don't  let  her  know." 

There  was  a  catch  in  his  breath  at  the  last  words. 
He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel  and  sped  down  the  hill 
side  ;  his  stockinged  feet  making  no  sound  on  the  damp 
mold.  Caleb  looked  dazedly  after  his  receding  figure. 

"  He's  white/'  muttered  Conover.  "  White,  clear 
through ! " 

Desiree  moved  at  sound  of  his  voice,  and  opened 
her  eyes.  For  a  moment  she  gazed  up  into  Caleb's 
face  with  blank  amaze.  Then  she  knew.  Up  went 
her  arms,  like  a  waking  baby's,  and  about  his  neck. 
As  he  bent  to  kiss  her  the  agony  of  his  stiffened  mus 
cles  wellnigh  made  him  cry  out. 

Flushed,  laughing,  big-eyed  from  her  long  sleep,  De 
siree  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her  glance  caught  the  white 
gleam  of  the  tents  below. 

"  Oh  what  luck ! "  she  exclaimed,  delightedly. 
"  Not  a  soul  astir !  We  can  get  back  without  anyone 
knowing.  What  time  is  it?  Or  has  time  stopped 
being?" 

He  rose  to  feel  for  his  watch ;  —  rose,  and  toppled 
clumsily  to  his  knees.  His  benumbed  body  refused  to 
obey  the  will  that  was  never  numb.  But,  mumbling 
something  about  having  tripped  over  a  root,  he  forced 
himself  to  rise  and  to  put  his  torturing  muscles  into 
motion. 

"  You're  cold !  "  she  cried,  accusingly.  "  The  fire's 
out  and  — " 


320  THE  FIGHTER 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  denied,  compelling  his  teeth 
not  to  chatter.  "  I'm  as  warm  as  toast.  Never  felt 
spryer  in  my  life.  Say,  girl,"  he  went  on,  to  turn  the 
subject  from  his  own  acute  ills,  "  you've  had  your 
wish,  all  right.  You  said  you  wanted  to  give  the 
slip  to  a  Simon  Legree  chap  named  Conventionality. 
An'  I  guess  we  done  it." 

His  arm  about  her,  her  hands  clasped  over  one  of 
his  aching  shoulders,  they  made  their  way  down  the 
hillside  to  the  silent  camp  in  the  waterside  dusk  below. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CALEB   CONOVER   RECEIVES   NEWS 

The  night  train  "  out,"  full  of  brown  and  disgrun 
tled  returning  vacationists,  drew  away  from  Raquette 
Lake  Station.  Caleb,  in  the  smoking  room,  his  hat 
pulled  over  his  eyes,  his  eternal  cigar  unlighted,  sat 
with  shut  lids,  trying  to  summon  up  the  memory  of 
Desiree's  big  brave  eyes  as  she  had  bidden  him  good 
bye  on  the  dock.  Instead,  he  could  only  recall  the 
sweatered,  cloaked  crowd  at  the  Antlers  pier,  waiting 
in  the  lantern-light  to  say  good  bye  to  the  launch ful 
of  departing  guests;  the  two  or  three  cards  that  had 
been  thrust  into  his  hand, —  and  of  whose  purport  he 
had  not  the  remotest  idea;  the  screech  of  the  launch- 
whistle,  and  the  churning  out  of  the  boat  into  the  dark ; 
dragging  Caleb  away  from  the  happiest  hours  of  all  his 
life. 

A  man  he  had  met  at  the  Antlers  entered  the  smok 
ing  room  and  tried  to  talk  to  him.  Conover's  answers 
were  so  vague  and  disjointed  that  the  other  soon  gave 
over  the  attempt.  A  fellow  railroad-magnate  from  a 
camp  near  the  lake  glanced  in  at  the  door  and  nodded 
affably  to  the  rising  power  in  the  provincial  railroad 
world.  Conover  did  not  so  much  as  see  the  greeting. 
321 


322  THE  FIGHTER 

He  was  trying  once  more,  with  shut  eyes,  to  conjure 
up  Desiree's  face. 

He  stopped  over  a  train,  in  New  York,  next  morn 
ing;  took  a  cab  to  the  store  of  a  famous  Fifth  Avenue 
jeweler  and  demanded  to  see  an  assortment  of  en 
gagement  rings.  The  clerk  laid  on  a  velvet  cushion 
half  a  dozen  diamond  solitaires  averaging  in  size  from 
one  to  two  karats  and  variously  set.  Caleb  waved 
the  collection  aside,  after  a  single  glance. 

"  I  want  the  biggest,  best  diamond  ring  you  got  in 
the  place,"  he  demanded. 

A  second,  far  more  garish  array  was  produced. 
Caleb  chose  from  it  a  diamond  of  the  size  of  his 
thumb-nail,  looked  it  over  critically  and  said : 

"  This'll  do,  I  guess.  Biggest  you've  got  ?  How 
much?" 

At  the  astounding  price  named  he  merely  smiled, 
and  drew  out  his  check  book. 

"  That  ought  to  tickle  her  fancy,"  he  mused. 
"  Ain't  a  di'mond  in  Granite  as  big." 

"  What  size,  sir?  "  asked  the  clerk. 

"  Why,  that's  the  one  I'm  takin'.  That  size,"  re 
plied  Conover,  perplexed. 

The  clerk  explained. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  stammered  Caleb.  "I  — I  didn't 
think  to  ask  her.  I  didn't  even  know  fingers  went  by 
sizes.  But  —  her  hand's  a  lot  smaller'n  mine,  if  that'll 
help  you  any." 

The  clerk  looked  away  at  some  point  of  interest 
that  had  suddenly  sprung  into  his  vision  at  a  remote 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     323 

part  of  the  store.  Caleb  picked  up  the  huge  diamond 
and  began  to  fit  the  ring  on  his  own  fingers.  His  little 
finger  alone  would  permit  the  circlet  to  slip  down  as  far 
as  the  first  bulging  knuckle-joint. 

"  It  won't  even  go  on  my  little  finger,"  he  observed. 
"  I  guess  that'll  be  just  'bout  the  right  size  for  her." 

"  If  I  might  suggest,"  offered  the  clerk,  "  why  don't 
you  leave  the  ring  with  me  until  you  can  find  out  the 
size  of  the  lady's  finger?  Then  notify  us  and  we  will 
have  it  adjusted  at  once  and  forwarded  to  you." 

This  in  no  way  suited  Caleb's  ideas.  He  had 
planned  to  put  the  ring  on  Desiree's  hand,  the  evening 
oi  her  return  to  Granite,  three  weeks  hence.  He 
wanted  to  witness  her  delight  and  surprise.  It  would 
offset  the  incident  of  the  American  Beauties.  Neither 
of  them  had  said  a  word  during  that  last,  all-too-short 
day,  about  an  engagement  ring.  He  hoped 'she  would 
think  he  did  not  know  enough  to  get  her  one.  The 
girl's  amazement  and  joy  would  be  so  much  the 
greater.  Whereas,  if  he  asked  her  beforehand  about 
the  size  — 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  decided.  "  I'll  take  it  with 
me.  If  it  don't  fit  she  can  send  it  back.  But  I  guess 
it  will" 

•  t      »        •        •        .        •        •        .        . 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  Legislature's  special  session. 
Conover  had  moved,  three  days  earlier,  to  the  Capital 
and  was  massing  his  legislative  cohorts  for  the  charge 
which  was  forever  to  annihilate  the  revised  Starke 
bill. 


324  THE  FIGHTER 

The  price  of  Steeloids  had  slumped  ever  so  little  in 
view  of  the  coming  test.  Caleb  welcomed  the  slight 
drop;  assuring  Caine,  Standish  and  the  rest  that  it 
but  preluded  an  unheard  of  "  boom  "  in  the  stock  the 
moment  the  result  of  the  Assembly  vote  became  known 
on  'Change.  As  to  that  result  he  had  not  an  atom  of 
doubt.  He  knew  his  strength  to  the  minutest  degree. 
Blacarda  had  made  inroads  upon  his  ranks,  it  was  true ; 
but  the  breaches  were  unimportant.  And  Caleb's 
presence  in  the  lobby  on  the  day  of  the  vote,  together 
with  certain  highly  effective  secret  manoeuvres  which 
were  to  be  put  into  operation  that  day,  would  far  more 
than  offset  them.  Compared  to  the  victorious  strug 
gle  of  six  months  earlier,  he  prophesied,  this  second 
affair  would  be  no  contest,  but  a  rout. 

The  time  was  long  since  past  when  any  of  Caleb's 
financial  beneficiaries  could  receive  the  lightest  of  their 
leader's  forecasts  with  doubt.  Hence  the  Steeloid 
ring  rejoiced  mightily;  and  plunged  so  heavily  in  the 
stock  that  the  price  took  a  swift  preliminary  climb 
even  before  its  promised  rise  was  due. 

Caine,  and  more  than  one  other  of  Conover's  busi 
ness  associates  wondered  at  the  subtle  change  that  two 
weeks  of  absence  had  wrought  in  their  champion.  He 
was  as  shrewd,  as  daring,  as  resourceful  as  ever. 
Yet  there  was  a  difference.  Caine  voiced  the  general 
opinion  when  he  said  to  Standish,  the  day  the  Assem 
bly  opened : — 

"  If  I  believed  in  miracles  I  should  fancy  a  stray; 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     325 

grain  of  humanity  had  somehow  found  its  way  into 
the  man's  brain." 

The  first  day's  session  of  the  Assembly  was  given 
over  to  the  usual  formalities.  On  the  morning  of  the 
second,  so  Conover's  agent  in  the  enemy's  camp  re 
ported  that  night,  Blacarda  intended  to  put  forward 
his  bill.  Caleb  was  well  prepared  for  the  issue.  One 
thing  only  puzzled  him.  Knowing  Blacarda  as  he 
did,  he  could  not  understand  why  the  man  haci  tried 
no  subterfuge  this  time,  to  draw  his  arch-opponent 
away  from  the  scene  of  action.  That  such  a  trick 
could  be  attempted  without  Conover's  learning  of  it 
seemed  impossible.  Yet  no  tidings  of  the  sort  had 
reached  him.  And  it  was  not  like  Blacarda  to  go  into 
battle  against  a  stronger  foe  without  trying  to  weaken 
the  odds  against  himself. 

These  things  Caleb  was  pondering  in  his  hotel  room, 
early  on  the  evening  before  the  Starke  bill  was  to  be 
presented.  He  was  dressing  to  go  with  Caine  to  a 
conference  of  political  and  business  associates,  to  be 
held  a  mile  or  so  distant.  And,  as  he  made  ready  to 
start  out,  the  answer  to  his  conjecture  was  received. 

It  came  in  the  form  of  a  telegram  : 

"  Train  derailed  near  Magdeburg.  Miss  Shevlin 
badly  injured.  At  Magdeburg  hotel..  .Wire  instruc 
tions  and  come  by  next  train.  Dangerous. 

J.  Hawarden,  Jr. 

For  the  briefest  of  intervals  Conover's  blood  settled 


326  THE  FIGHTER 

down  stiflingly  upon  his  heart.     Then  he  laughed  h 
grim  relief. 

"  I  thought  Friend  Blacarda  was  too  sharp  to  try 
the  same  trick  twice  on  me,"  he  growled,  handing  the 
dispatch  to  Caine,  "  an*  I  thought  he'd  be  afraid  to. 
Seems  I  was  wrong.  He  knew  Dey  was  at  the  Ant 
lers  with  the  Ha  wardens,  of  course.  But  he  might  a' 
took  the  pains  to  find  out  she  wasn't  goin'  to  leave 
there  for  a  fortnight.  I  had  a  letter  from  her,  there, 
to-day.  An'  any  railroad  man  could  a'  told  him,"  he 
went  on  contemptuously,  "  that  no  train  either  from 
Noo  York  or  the  Ad'rondacks  passes  through  Magde 
burg.  But  most  likely  he  chose  that  because  it's  an 
out-of-the-way  hole  that  takes  fever  to  get  to.  Why 
couldn't  he  a'  flattered  my  intelligence  by  a  fake  that 
had  a  little  cleverness  in  it  ?  Come  on.  We'll  be  late 
to  that  meetin'.  I'll  settle  once  more  with  Blacarda, 
afterward.  An'  this  time  he  won't  forget  so  soon." 

"  I  doubt  if  Blacarda  had  any  hand  in  it,"  said 
Caine,  as  they  left  the  hotel.  "  There  are  only  two 
general  divisions  of  the  genus  f  Fool.'  And  Blacarda 
belongs  to  the  species  that  doesn't  put  his  fingers  in  the 
same  flame  a  second  time." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  think  there's  a  ghost  of  a 
chance  the  tel'gram's  the  reel  thing?  If  I  — " 

"  No,  no,"  soothed  Caine.  "  As  you've  shown,  it's 
a  palpable  fraud.  But  there  are  others  beside  Bla 
carda  who  want  the  Starke  bill  to  go  through.  The 
story  of  his  ruse  last  spring  has  gone  abroad  in  spite 
of  Blacarda's  attempt  to  strangle  it.  And  some  one, 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     327 

remembering  how  well  the  trick  worked  then,  has  tried 
its  effect  a  second  time." 

"  I'll  put  some  of  my  men  on  the  track  of  it  to 
morrow,"  answered  Caleb.  "  By  the  time  they're 
through,  I  guess  there  won't  be  many  crooks  left  in 
the  State  who'll  dare  to  use  Dey  Shevlin's  name  in 
their  fake  mess'ges.  Maybe  you're  right  'bout  its  not 
bein'  Blacarda  himself.  I'm  kind  of  glad,  too.  He'll 
get  enough  gruellin'  to-morrow  without  any  extrys 
thrown  in." 

"  Poor  old  Blacarda !  I'm  afraid  you'll  take  away 
his  perpetual  grievance  against  you  and  leave  him 
nothing  but  grief." 

"  Grievance !  "  scoffed  Conover.  "  He's  got  no 
grievance.  All's  he's  got  is  a  grouch.  There's  all 
the  diff'rence  in  the  world  between  the  two.  A  white 
man  with  sense  may  have  a  grievance.  But  only  a 
sorehead  an'  a  fool  will  let  their  grievance  sour  into  a 
grouch.  Blacarda's  grouch  against  me  is  doin'  him 
more  harm  than  all  my  moves  could.  He  hates  me. 
That's  where  he  makes  his  mistake.  Hate's  the  heavi 
est  handicap  a  feller  can  carry  into  a  fight.  If  you've 
got  a  grievance  against  a  man  or  want  to  get  the  best 
of  him,  don't  ever  spoil  your  chances  by  hatin'  him. 
It  won't  do  him  any  hurt,  an'  it'll  play  the  dickens 
with  your  own  brain  an'  nerves." 

"  I  suppose,"  queried  Caine  ironically,  "  there  was 
no  hatred  in  your  attack  on  Blacarda  in  his  hotel  room 
last  spring?  Pure,  high-souled  justice?" 

"  No,"  grumbled  Caleb.     "  It  was  hate.    -An'  I  got 


328  THE  FIGHTER 

it  out  of  my  system  the  quickest,  easiest  way  I  could. 
If  I'd  bottled  all  that  up  an'  let  it  ferment  till  now, 
I'd  be  layin'  awake  nights,  losing -sleep  an'  health  an' 
nerve  while  I  figgered  out  how  cute  he'd  look  with  his 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear.  As  it  is,  I've  no  more 
hard  feelin'  about  crushin'  Blacarda  than  I'd  have  if 
he  was  a  per  fee'  stranger.  Yes,  son,  hate  harms  the 
hater  a  lot  more'n  it  harms  the  hatee.  You  can  bank 
on  that." 

"  I  wonder  if  young  Hawarden  will  agree  with  your 
peaceful  doctrine,"  hazarded  Caine,  "  when  he  hears 
how  some  financial  heeler  has  taken  his  name  in  vain 
in  that  telegram  ?  " 

"  He'll  most  likely  hunt  the  feller  up  an'  lick  him," 
responded  Conover.  "  He's  all  right,  that  boy  is. 
I've  took  a  shine  to  him.  Pity  he  ain't  got  some 
commonsense  ambition  instead  of  hankerin*  after  lit- 
terchoor.  Kind  of  petty  trade  for  a  grown  man,  ain't 
it?" 

"  No,"  dissented  Caine.  "  I  should  call  slow  starva 
tion  one  of  the  big  things  of  life.  There's  nothing 
petty  about  it  that  I  can  see." 

"  That's  the  answer,  hey  ?  He  told  me  'bout  a  feller 
he'd  met  once  at  the  Antlers  who  made  twenty  thou- 
san'  a  year  just  by  writin'  novels  'bout  s'ciety.  Now, 
Hawarden  knows  all  'bout  the  s'ciety  game.  I  sh'd 
think  he'd  write  such  stories  fine." 

"  The  stories  of  Jack's  that  I've  read,"  answered 
Caine,  "  all  centre  around  labor  problems  and  other 
things  the  boy  knows  as  little  about  as  if  he  had  taken 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     329 

a  postgraduate  course  in  ignorance.  He  couldn't 
write  a  society  story  if  he  tried." 

"Why  not?     I  sh'd  think—" 

"  Because  he's  been  born  and  brought  up  in  that  at 
mosphere.  A  society  man  could  no  more  write  about 
society  than  he  could  write  a  love  sonnet  to  his  own 
sister." 

"  But  that  kind  of  stories  get  written,"  faltered 
Caleb,  grubbing  vainly  for  a  possible  jest  in  his  friend's 
puzzling  dictum.  "Somebody  must  write  'em." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  denied  Caine.  "  Nobodies 
write  them.  For  instance,  there  is  a  man  who  was 
born  in  South  Brooklyn  or  somewhere;  and  spent  a 
year  or  two  in  Europe.  So  much  for  his  environ 
ment.  He  used  to  write  charming  stories.  They 
were  fairly  vibrant  with  satire,  humor,  color  and  a 
ceaseless  rush  of  action.  His  nature-descriptions  were 
revelations  in  word-painting.  I  always  read  every  line 
he  wrote.  So  did  some  other  people.  But  only  some. 
Then  he  moved  to  a  little  village,  away  from  the  centre 
of  things,  and  forthwith  began  to  write  novels  of  New 
York  Society. 

"  It  was  very  easy.  The  Sunday  papers  cost  him 
no  more  than  they  cost  anyone  else.  He  fell  to  de 
scribing  the  innermost  life  of  New  York's  innermost 
smart  set.  He  scorned  to  depict  a  single  character  that 
wasn't  worth  at  least  a  million.  Silver,  cut  glass  and 
diamonds  strewed  his  pages ;  till  one  longed  for  brown 
bread  and  pie.  He  flashed  the  fierce  white  light  of 
unbiased  ignorance  into  the  darkest  corners  of  a  society 


330  THE  FIGHTER 

that  never  was  by  sea  or  land.  And  what  was  the  re 
sult?  In  a  day  he  leaped  to  immortality.  The  shop 
girl  read  him  so  eagerly  that  she  rode  past  her  station. 
The  youth  behind  the  counter  learned  to  rattle  off  the 
list  of  his  books  as  easily  as  the  percentages  of  the 
base  ball-clubs.  In  the  walks  of  life  that  he  so  vividly 
portrayed,  such  people  as  read  at  all  made  amused  com 
ments  that  could  never  by  any  possibility  reach  his 
ears.  We  others  who  had  reveled  in  his  earlier  books 
felt  as  we  might  if  an  adored  brother  has  left  the  dip 
lomatic  service  to  become  a  bartender.  But  we  were 
in  the  minority.  So  we  re-read  Browning's  *  Lost 
Leader,'  dropped  the  subject  and  sought  in  vain  for  a 
new  idol." 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  agreed  Caleb,  hazily,  recalling  his 
wandered  attention  as  Caine  paused.  "  I  wish  I  hadn't 
got  that  tel'gram." 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Caleb  Conover  returned 
to  his  room.  Three  more  telegrams  awaited  him,  as 
well  as  a  penciled  request  that  he  call  up  Magdeburg 
Hotel  on  the  long-distance  telephone.  While  he  was 
profanely  waiting  for  the  operator  to  establish  the  con 
nection,  Caleb  ripped  open  the  telegrams  one  after  the 
other.  All  were  from  Jack.  Each  bore  the  same 
burden  as  the  message  that  had  come  early  in  the  even 
ing.  The  last  of  the  trio  added : 

"  Long  distance  'phone  wires  here  temporarily  out 
of  order.  Will  call  you  as  soon  as  they  are  repaired ; 
on  chance  your  train  may  not  yet  have  gone." 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS    331 

"  Here's  your  party,  sir,"  reported  the  operator. 

Curiously  sick  and  dazed,  even  while  his  colder  rea 
son  assured  him  the  whole  affair  was  probably  a  fraud, 
Conover  caught  up  the  receiver. 

"  That  Magdeburg?  "  he  shouted,  "  Magdeburg  Ho 
tel  ?  This  is  Conover.  Caleb  Conover.  Lady  named 
Shevlin  there  ?  Is  she  hurt  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  the  answer,  droned  with  maddening 
indistinctness  through  a  babel  of  buzzing  sounds. 
"  Lady's  hurt  pretty  bad.  If  she  ain't  dead  already. 
I  just  come  on  duty  five  minutes  ago.  So  I  don't  — 
Wait  a  second.  Gentleman  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Then,  through  the  buzz  and  whirr,  spoke  another 
voice.  Unmistakably  Jack  Hawarden's. 

"Mr.  Conover?"  it  called. 

"  Yes !  "  yelled  Caleb,  driving  the  words  by  sheer 
force  through  the  horror  that  sanded  his  throat,  "  Go 
ahead!" 

"  You  haven't  even  started  ?  "  cried  the  boy,  a  break 
in  his  voice.  "  For  God's  sake,  come !  Come  now! " 

As  no  reply  could  be  heard,  Jack's  tones  droned 
on;  their  despair  twisted  by  distance  into  a  grotesque, 
semi-audible  squeak: 

"  She  may  not  live  through  the  night,  the  doctor 
says.  You  see,"  he  rambled  along,  incoherently  talk 
ative  in  his  panic,  "  we  were  called  away  from  the 
Antlers,  suddenly,  by  a  letter  telling  my  mother  her 
sister  in  Hampden  was  ill.  So  we  all  left,  two  weeks 
earlier  than  we  had  meant.  When  we  got  to  Hamp 
den  my  mother  stayed  there  and  I  started  back  to 


332  THE  FIGHTER 

Granite  with  Miss  Shevlin.     We  took  the  branch  road ; 
and  just  outside  of  Magdeburg — " 

"  Party's  rung  off  long  ago,"  put  in  the  operator. 

Caleb,  at  Jack's  second  sentence,  had  dropped  the 
receiver,  bolted  from  the  hotel  and  hailed  a  night- 
hawk  hansom.  Already  he  was  galloping  through  the 
empty  streets  toward  the  station;  scribbling  with  un 
steady  hand  on  envelope-backs  a  series  of  orders  and 
dispatches  that  should  assure  him  a  clear  track  and  a 
record-breaking  journey  from  the  Capital  to  Magde 
burg.  This  detail  arranged,  his  brain  ceased  to  act. 
Sense  of  time  was  wiped  out.  So,  mercifully,  was 
realization  of  pain.  In  the  cab  of  the  road's  fastest 
engine  he  crouched  through  the  long  hours  of  dark 
ness;  while  the  wheels  jolted  out  an  irritating,  mean 
ingless  singsong  refrain  that  ran : 
.  "  Haven't  —  you  —  started?  —  For  —  God's  — 
sake,  —  come  \  " 


To  still  the  hateful  iteration  and  to  rouse  himself  to 
some  semblance  of  calm,  Caleb  pulled  from  his  side 
pocket  a  bunch  of  letters  brought  on  from  his  office  at 
Granite  that  same  afternoon,  by  his  secretary.  He 
had  been  busy  when  the  package  arrived  and  had  thrust 
it  into  his  coat.  Now  he  drew  it  forth  and  mechan 
ically  began  to  glance  over  the  envelopes. 

It  was  personal  mail  and  had  been  accumulating 
for  days.  Desiree  always  addressed  her  letters  to  his 
hotel  at  the  Capital;  and  his  secretary  attended  to 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     333 

official  mail.  So  Caleb  had  not  ordered  the  forward 
ing  of  such  personal  letters  as  might  come  to  the  office. 
In  fact  he  had  been  mildly  annoyed  at  the  secretary's 
well  meant  act  in  bringing  them  to  him. 

Through  the  small  sheaf  of  envelopes  his  thick 
fingers  wandered.  Suddenly,  the  man's  lack-lustre 
look  brightened  to  one  of  astonishment.  Midway  in 
the  package  was  an  envelope  in  Desiree  Shevlin's  hand. 
Letting  the  rest  of  the  letters  slide  to  the  swaying 
floor  the  Fighter  nervously  caught  this  up.  Why  had 
she  written  to  the  office  instead  of  to  his  hotel?  Prob 
ably,  he  thought,  by  mere  mistake.  A  mistake  that 
meant  a  few  moments  of  surcease  now  from  his  night 
mare  journey. 

With  ice-damp  fingers  Conover  held  the  letter ;  tore 
it  open  as  though  the  ripping  of  the  paper  caused  him 
physical  pain ;  smoothed  wide  the  pages  with  awkward, 
awed  gentleness,  and  read: 

"  Heart's  Dearest : — Just  as  soon  as  you've  read  this, 
you  can  come  straight  to  see  me.  Honestly !  For  I'll 
be  at  home.  Mrs.  Hawarden's  sister  is  ill.  We  only 
heard  of  it  by  this  noon's  mail  and  we  are  leaving  by 
the  night  train.  At  first  I  wanted  to  telegraph  you  at 
the  Capital.  But  if  I  do  I'm  so  afraid  you  will  drop 
everything  and  come  to  meet  me.  And  you  mustn't. 
You  must  stay  at  the  Capital  till  you  win  your  fight 
there  for  all  the  men  who  have  put  money  in  Steeloid. 
We  are  so  happy  we  can't  afford  to  do  anything  now 
to  make  other  people  blue.  Can  we?  So  stay  and 


334  THE  FIGHTER 

win  for  them.  That's  why  I'm  sending  this  to  your 
office. 

"  You  have  just  come  back  to  Granite  all  tired  from 
your  work.  Then  you  saw  my  letter  and  opened  it 
and  —  I'm  afraid  you're  on  your  way  to  my  house 
before  you've  gotten  this  far. 

"  Oh,  dear !  This  is  the  last  of  my  little  batch  of 
Adirondack  love  letters.  And  I  believe  you're  rush 
ing  off  to  see  me  instead  of  reading  it.  And  it  isn't  a 
love  letter  after  all.  For  it's  going  to  be  only  a  note. 
I've  all  my  packing  to  do  and  the  '  white-horse  chariot ' 
comes  for  our  trunks  at  six.  It  has  been  a  beautiful 
vacation.  Two  weeks  of  it  was  heaven.  And  the 
memory  of  that  last  golden  day  of  ours  makes  some 
thing  queer  come  into  my  throat. 

"  But  I'm  oh  so  glad, —  so  glad  —  we  are  coming 
away.  Every  minute  brings  me  nearer  to  Granite. 
You  won't  be  there  when  I  arrive;  but  I'll  be  where 
you  have  lived.  And  I'll  be  waiting  for  you  every 
minute  till  you  come  back.  Just  thinking  about  you 
and  loving  you,  heart  of  my  heart. 

"  I'm  glad,  too,  that  we  are  leaving  the  Antlers  be 
fore  every  one  else  does.  It  is  sad,  somehow,  to  watch 
the  boat-loads  go  off  into  the  dark  and  to  be  part  of 
the  dwindling  group  that  is  left.  It  is  pleasantest  to 
go  away  from  a  place, —  yes,  and  from  the  world,  too, 
I  should  think, —  while  everything  is  at  its  height ;  be 
fore  friends  thin  out  and  the  jolly  crowd  falls  away 
and  the  happy,  happy  times  begin  to  end.  To  leave 


CALEB  CONOVER  RECEIVES  NEWS     335 

everything  in  the  flood-tide  of  the  fun  and  to  remember 
it  as  it  was  at  its  best;  to  be  remembered  as  a  little 
part  of  the  happiness  of  it  all.  Not  as  one  of  the  few 
last  ones  left  behind. 

"  What  a  silly  way  to  write !  This  isn't  a  love  let 
ter  at  all.  I  told  you  it  wasn't.  But  I  had  a  horrid 
dream  last  night  and  it  has  given  me  the  shivers  all 
day.  I  think  some  of  its  hagorousness  has  crept  into 
my  pen.  No,  I  won't  write  it.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  when  I  see  you.  And  then  you  can  put  your  darling 
strong  arms  around  me  and  laugh  at  me  for  letting 
myself  get  frightened  by  a  silly  dream.  I  wish  this 
was  a  love  letter.  I  never  wrote  one  till  this  past 
week.  So  I  don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  want  to; 
to  say  all  the  wonderful  things  that  are  in  my  heart. 
But  I  love  you,  my  own.  And  the  whole  world  cen 
tres  just  around  you.  It  always  has.  But  now  that 
you  know  it  does,  I  feel  so  happy  it  frightens  me. 
We're  going  to  be  together  forever  and  ever  and  ever 
—  and  ever, —  and  then  some  more.  Aren't  we  ? 
Say  so ! 

"  Say  so,  beloved,  and  hold  me  very  tight  in  your 
arms,  very  near  to  your  heart  when  you  say  it.  For 
to-day  I'm  foolish  enough  to  want  to  be  comforted 
a  little  bit.  I  wish  I  hadn't  had  that  dream.  It  was 
all  nonsense,  wasn't  it?  Dreams  never  come  true. 
So  I  won't  worry  one  minute  longer.  Only, —  I  wish 
I  was  with  you,  my  strong,  splendid  old  sweetheart. 
The  only  dream  that  can  possibly  come  to^pass  is  the 


336  THE  FIGHTER 

glorious  one  we  dreamed  that  night  up  on  the  mount 
ain  with  the  sea  of  mist  all  around  us  and  God's  stars 
overhead.  And  we  will  never  wake  from  it. 

"  The  gentle,  friendly  northland  summer  is  over  now 
and  the  frost  lies  thick  nearly  every  morning.  It  is 
time  to  go. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  I  am  coming  home  to  you. 
Home!  We  must  never  be  away  from  each  other, 
again.  Not  for  a  single  day;  —  so  long  as  we  live." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
"THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST" 

The  sky  was  gray  with  morning  as  Conover  stum 
bled  into  a  sitting  room  of  the  little  Magdeburg  Hotel. 
Two  men  turned  toward  him.  One  of  them,  his  arm 
in  a  sling  —  a  great  plaster  patch  on  his  forehead  and 
dried  blood  caking  his  face, —  hurried  forward. 
Caleb  looked  twice  before  he  recognized  Jack 
Hawarden. 

"  Thank  Heaven  you're  here !  "  exclaimed  the  lad. 
"She—" 

"  She's  alive  yet  ?  "  croaked  the  Fighter. 

"  Yes,  yes !  In  there,"  pointing  to  a  closed  door. 
"  Wait !  "  as  Caleb  reached  the  door  at  a  bound.  "  Dr. 
Bond  is  dressing  some  of  her  hurts  again.  He'll  be 
through  in  a  minute.  Then  I'll  take  you  in.  Mr. 
Conover,  this  is  the  Reverend  Mr.  Grant.  He  has 
been  very,  very  kind.  He  helped  us  lift  the  wreckage 
from  her,  and  — " 

"  Is  she  goin'  to  get  well?  "  demanded  Caleb,  wheel 
ing  about  on  the  clergyman. 

"  All  is  being  done  that  mortal  skill  can  do,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Grant  with  gentle  evasion,  "  The  local 
physician  — " 

"  '  Local  physician  ?  '  mocked  Caleb.  "  Here, 
337 


338  THE  FIGHTER 

Hawarden!  Sit  down  there  an'  tel'graph  to  Dr. 
Hawes  an'  Dr.  Clay  at  Granite.  Tell  'em  to  come  here 
in  a  rush  an'  bring  along  the  best  nurses  they  can  find. 
Tel'graph  my  office  in  my  name  to  give  'em  a  Special 
an'  to  clear  the  tracks  for  'em.  Tel'graph  to  Noo 
York,  too,  for  the  best  specialists  they've  got.  An  — " 

"  I'm  afraid,  sir  "  interposed  the  clergyman,  "  there 
is  no  use  in  sending  to  New  York.  No  doctor  there 
could  reach  Magbeburg  —  in  time." 

"  You  do's  I  say !  "  Caleb  ordered  the  lad.  Then 
turning  fiercely  on  Mr.  Grant  he  demanded : 

"  What  d'you  mean  by  sayin'  he  won't  get  here  on 
time?  She's  goin'  to  get  well,  if  a  couple  of  million 
dollars  worth  of  med'cal  'tention  can  cure  her.  If 
not—" 

"  If  not,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  speaking  tenderly 
as  a  father,  "  we  must  bear  God's  will.  For  such  as 
she  there  is  no  fear.  She  has  the  white  soul  of  a 
child.  She  will  go  out  of  this  lesser  life  of  ours  borne 
on  the  strong  arm  of  Christ.  She  — " 

"  No  '  fear  '  for  her  ?  "  yelled  Conover,  catching  but 
a  single  phrase  in  the  other's  attempt  at  comfort, 
"  Who  the  hell  is  fearin'  for  her?  That  girl's  fit  to 
look  on  God's  own  face  an'  live.  It's  for  me  that  I'm 
afraid.  For  me  that  I'm  afraid.  For  me  that  she'd 
leave  to  live  on  without  her  through  all  the  damned 
dreariness  of  the  years.  What'd  there  be  in  it  for  me 
to  know  she  was  in  heaven?  I  want  her.  I  want  her 
here.  With  me!  An'  she'd  rather  be  with  me.  I 


"  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  "     339 

know  she  would.  I'd  make  her  happier'n  all  the  angels 
that  ever — " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  blaspheme,"  said  the  clergy 
man,  "  You  are  not  yourself.  She  is  brave.  She 
knows  no  dread.  Can't  you  be  as  brave  as  she  is, — 
for  her  sake  ?  She  is  learning  that  Death  is  no  longer 
terrible  when  one  is  close  enough  to  see  the  kind  eyes 
behind  the  mask.  I  know  how  black  an  hour  this  is 
for  you.  But  God  will  help  you  if  only  you  will  carry 
your  grief  to  Him.  When  man  can  endure  no  more, 
He  sends  Peace.  If — " 

The  door  of  the  inner  room  opened,  and  a  bearded 
man  emerged.  He  paused  on  the  threshold  at  sight  of 
Caleb.  The  Fighter  thrust  him  bodily  aside,  without 
ceremony;  entered  the  room  the  doctor  had  just  quitted 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  light  burned  low.  In  the  centre  of  the  big 
white  bed, —  a  pathetically  tiny  figure, —  lay  Desiree. 
Her  wonderful  hair  flowed  loose  over  the  pillow.  The 
little  face,  white,  pain-drawn,  yet  smiling  joyous  wel 
come  from  its  great  eyes,  turned  eagerly  toward  her 
lover.  With  an  effort  whose  anguish  left  her  lips 
gray  she  stretched  forth  her  arms  to  him. 

An  inarticulate,  sobbing  cry  that  rent  his  whole  body 
burst  from  the  Fighter.  The  dear  arms  closed  above 
his  heaving  shoulders  and  his  head  lay  once  more  on 
the  girl's  breast.  Through  the  hell  of  his  agony  stole 
for  the  moment  that  old,  weirdly  sweet  sense  of  being 
at  last  safe  from  all  the  noise  and  battle  of  the  world; 


340  THE  FIGHTER 

—  at  home.  And,  as  a  mother  might  hush  a  fright 
ened  child,  the  stricken  girl  soothed  and  comforted 
him ;  whispering  secret  love-words  of  their  own ;  lulling 
to  rest  the  horror  that  was  consuming  him. 

And  after  a  time  the  shock  passed,  bringing  the 
man's  inborn  optimism  back  with  a  rush.  This  girl 
who  spoke  so  bravely,  who  even  laughed  a  little  in  her 
eagerness  to  comfort  him, —  she  could  not  be  at  death's 
•door.  This  local  pill-mixer  who  had  pulled  so  long  a 
face, —  he  and  the  parson  chap  whose  business  it  was 
to  speed  earth's  parting  guests, —  between  them  they 
had  cooked  up  a  fine  alarm.  They  had  scared  him, — 
they  and  that  fool  boy  who  knew  nothing  about  acci 
dents  and  whose  own  minor  injuries  no  doubt  made 
him  think  Desiree  must  be  incurably  hurt. 

Caleb  had  seen  many  men  who  had  been  injured  in 
railroad  smashups.  They  had  writhed  clumsily,  emit 
ting  raucous  screams  'way  down  in  their  throats; — 
or  had  lain  senseless  in  queer-shaped  heaps,  from  the 
first.  Not  one  of  them  had  been  coherent,  calm, — 
yes,  even  cheerful, —  like  this  worshipped  little  sweet 
heart  of  his.  The  first  shock  was  bringing  its  normal 
reaction  to  the  Fighter's  brain  and  nerves.  As  ever, 
it  was  imparting  to  them  a  redoubled  power  to  cast  off 
depression. 

He  raised  his  head;  and,  by  the  dim  light,  studied 
Desiree's  face.  The  brave,  beautiful  eyes  met  his 
with  a  message  of  deathless  love.  The  tortured  lips 
were  parted  in  a  smile. 


"  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  "       341 

All  at  once  he  knew  he  was  right.  She  would 
get  well.  The  enginery  that  had  made  his  fortune 
would  not  crush  out  her  life.  The  railroad  that  had 
brought  him  wealth  was  not  to  bring  him  desolation 
as  well.  The  foreknowledge  set  his  blood  to  tingling. 

"  Are  you  sufferin'  so  very  much,  girl?  "  he  asked. 

And  she,  reading  his  thoughts  as  she  had  always 
done,  smiled  again  as  she  answered : 

"  Not  very  much,  dear  heart.  Hardly  at  all,  now 
that  you're  here.  Oh,  it's  good  to  have  you  with  me 
again !  I  was  afraid  you  mightn't  — " 

She  stopped.  He  thought  he  knew  why,  and  made 
answer : 

"  Thought  I  mightn't  come,  hey?  Why,  girl,  if  you 
had  a  smashed  finger  an'  sent  for  me  to  come  clear 
across  the  world  to  kiss  it  an'  make  it  well,  I'd  come. 
An'  you  know  I  would.  An'  you're  really  better  since 
I  got  here?  " 

"  Much,  much  better." 

"  I  knew  it !  "  he  declared,  in  triumph.  "  I  knew 
you'd  come  'round  all  right.  I  had  a  hunch  you  would. 
An'  my  hunches  don't  ever  go  wrong.  I've  sent  for 
the  best  doctors  in  America.  If  there's  better  doctors 
in  Yurrup  I'll  send  for  those,  too.  An,'  among  'em 
they'll  have  you  fit  as  a  fiddle  in  no  time.  You'll  get 
well,  for  me,  darling.  You'll  get  well!  You'll  get 
well!" 

He  struck  his  hand  on  the  bedpost  to  drive  home 
the  prophecy. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  whispered,  faint  with  a  new  spasm 


342  THE  FIGHTER 

of  pain  as  the  jar  of  his  hand's  impact  shook  the  bed. 

"  Oh ! "  he  laughed,  nervously,  "  I  was  so  scared, 
girl.  So  scared !  It  seemed  like  the  world  was  tumbl- 
in'  about  my  ears.  If  I'd  come  here  an'  found  — " 

He  could  not  go  on. 

"  I  know,  dear,  I  know ! "  she  told  him,  stroking 
his  bristled  red  hair  as  she  spoke,  "  It  would  be  ter 
ribly  lonely  for  you  if  —  if  anything  happened  to  me. 
You  are  so  strong  in  some  ways.  Yet  in  others  you 
are  a  child.  No  one  understands  you  except  me.  No 
one  else  can  break  through  the  rough  outer-world  shell 
to  the  big  gentle  boy  that  hides  inside  it.  If  I  were 
not  here  with  you,  no  one  would  ever  look  for  that 
boy.  No  one  would  even  suspect  he  was  there.  And 
by  and  by  he  would  die  for  lack  of  companionship. 
The  hard  rough  armor  would  go  on  through  life. 
But  the  soul, —  the  boy  I  love, —  would  be  dead.  Oh, 
you  need  me,  dear !  You  need  me !  The  poor  help 
less  friendly  little  boy  behind  the  brutal  shell, —  the 
real  you, — needs  me.  He  can't  live  without  me.  No 
one  else  will  love  him,  or  even  know  he  is  in  his  hiding 
place  waiting  and  longing  to  be  made  friends  with, 
/  can't  let  you  go!" 

The  soft  voice  broke,  despite  the  gallant  spirit's 
commands.  And  the  tone  went  through  Conover  like 
white-hot  steel. 

"Don't  talk  so,  Dey!"  he  implored,  "Don't  speak 
like  you  weren't  goin'  to  get  well.  You  are,  I  tell 
you!" 


"  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  "      343 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  assented  once  more,  petting  the 
big  awkward  hand  that  clung  to  her. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  he  protested  valiantly,  "  It's 
crazy  of  me  to  a'  thought  anything  else.  An'  I  didn't, 
really.  You'll  be  as  well  as  ever  you  was,  in  a  week 
or  less.  I'm  havin'  nurses  tel'graphed  for,  too.  The 
best  there  are.  An',"  a  veritable  inspiration  crossing 
the  brain  he  was  racking  for  further  words  of  en 
couragement,  "  An'  I've  got  a  present  for  you.  A 
dandy  one.  Guess  what  it  is." 

"  Flowers  ?  "  she  asked,  forcing  an  interest  into  her 
query. 

"  Flowers ! "  he  echoed  in  fine  scorn,  "  Somethin* 
nicer'n  all  the  flowers  that  ever  happened !  See !  " 

He  fished  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a  little  box 
wrapped  with  tissue  paper  that  was  none  the  cleaner 
for  a  week's  companionship  with  tobacco-dust  and  lead 
pencils. 

"  Oh,  let  me  open  it !  she  commanded,  with  a  vestige 
of  her  old  sweet  imperiousness.  "  That's  the  best 
part  of  a  present." 

She  undid  the  grimy  paper,  opened  the  box  and 
gazed  in  childish  delight  at  the  gorgeous  diamond  in  its 
platinum  setting. 

"  I  knew  you'd  like  it,"  he  chuckled,  "  Han'somest 
ring  in  New  York.  From  the  best  store  there,  too. 
See  the  name  on  the  box-cover.  How's  that  for  an 
engagement  ring?  " 

"  It's  beautiful!     Beautiful!  "  she  murmured. 


344  THE  FIGHTER 

She  slipped  it  on  her  third  finger,  whence  it  hung 
heavy  and  ridiculously  loose. 

"  Maybe  it's  a  little  too  large  "  he  confessed,  "  But 
we'll  have  that  fixed  easily  enough.  I  didn't  want  to 
ask  your  size  beforehand  for  fear  you  might  suspect 
somethin'.  So  I  had  to  guess  at  it." 

She  praised  the  diamond's  beauties  until  even  Con- 
over  was  content.  Then  she  lay  back  among  the  pil 
lows  and  fought  movelessly  for  endurance.  Her 
waning  strength,  keyed  up  to  its  highest  pitch  for 
Caleb's  sake,  was  deserting  her.  To  hide  her  weak 
ness  she  began  playing  with  the  ring ;  slipping  it  from 
finger  to  finger  until  at  length  the  circlet  hung  loose 
from  her  thumb.  Caleb  watched  her  slender  hand 
toying  with  the  gift. 

"  It'll  be  a  mighty  short  time,  now,"  said  he,  "  before 
we  fit  on  a  plain  gold  ring  above  that !  Hey  ?  " 

At  his  words  the  girl,  to  his  dismay,  broke  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

"There!  There!"  he  consoled,  passing  his  arms 
about  the  frail  tormented  body,  "  Why,  what  is  it, 
sweetheart?  Too  much  excitement  after  your  acci 
dent  ?  I  ought  to  a'  had  better  sense  than  to  keep  you 
talkin'  like  this.  Try  an'  get  some  sleep.  An'  when 
you  wake  up  you'll  feel  better.  Lots  better.  Don't 
cry!  It  breaks  me  all  up  to  have  you  do  it.  Don't, 
precious ! " 

"I  —  I  love  you  so  "  panted  the  girl,  "  There's  just 
you  in  all  the  world,  Caleb !  You'll  stay  close  by  me 
always,  won't  you  ?  Just  as  long  as  I  live  ?  " 


"  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  "     345 

"  You  bet  I  will !  "  he  declared,  "  An'  I'll  never  let 
you  out  of  my  sight.  I  ain't  more'n  half  myself  when 
you're  away.  I  need  you  worse'n  you  can  ever  need 
me,  Dey.  You're  just  the  heart  of  me." 

"  Don't  take  your  arms  away,"  she  begged,  "They 
are  so  strong,  so  safe.  Listen,  dear :  —  I  want  you  to 
pick  me  up, —  I'm  not  too  heavy,  am  I  ?  —  Pick  me  up 
and  carry  me.  I  want  to  be  close  to  you, —  closer  than 
I  ever  was  before.  You  are  so  big, —  so  powerful. 
And  —  I  feel  so  weak.  I'm  a  little  restless;  that's 
all,"  she  added  hastily,  "And  it  will  quiet  me  to  be 
held." 

He  gathered  her  gently  to  his  breast.  Her  arms 
clasped  his  neck;  her  face  was  buried  in  his  shoulder 
to  stifle  the  cry  of  agony  evoked  by  the  movement  of 
lifting.  Then,  carrying  her  closely  to  his  heart, 
Conover  began  to  pace  the  room,  bearing  the  girl  as 
easily  and  as  lightly  as  though  she  were  a  baby. 

The  tenderness  of  his  caress  now  held  no  roughness. 
The  motion  and  the  reliance  on  his  perfect  strength 
quieted  her  suffering  and  gave  her  the  sense  of  utter 
peace  she  had  known  when  she  fell  asleep  in  his  arms 
on  the  Adirondack  hill-top. 

"  I  am  very  happy !  "  she  sighed,  "  Do  I  tire  you?  " 

"  Not  much  you  don't,  you  little  bit  of  a  girl !  "  he 
laughed,  "  I  could  carry  you  always.  An'  I'm  goin' 
to.  Right  close  in  my  heart.  Say,  there  was  a  man 
out  in  the  other  room  when  I  came.  A  minister.  He 
said  a  queer  thing.  Somethin'  'bout  bein'  carried  on 
the  *  strong  arm  of  Christ.' ' 


346  THE  FIGHTER 

"  I  think  I  know  what  he  meant,"  said  Desiree, 
softly. 

"  H'm !  Sometime  when  you're  better  I'll  get 
you  to  explain  it  to  me.  I'd  rather  talk  'bout  you, 
just  now.  D'you  remember  that  time  I  sat  by  the 
fire  an'  held  you  like  this  while  you  went  to  sleep?  " 

"  Do  I  remember? "  she  answered,  "  There  has 
never  been  one  hour  I've  forgotten  it.  It  made  me 
feel  so  safe  from  harm;  so  sure,  so  happy.  Perhaps, 
—  yes,  I'm  sure  —  that's  the  way  one  must  feel 
when—" 

"  Are  you  thinkin'  'bout  what  that  preacher  said?  " 
asked  Caleb,  miserably,  "  Don't,  girl !  It'll  be  years 
and  years  before  you  ever  need  to  think  'bout  those 
things.  A  month  from  now  we'll  both  laugh  over  the 
scare  I  had.  .  .  .  Your  eyes  get  wonder  fuller  all 
the  time,  Dey.  I  never  knew  quite  how  lovely  they 
were  till  now.  There's  a  light  in  'em  like  they  was 
lookin'  at  somethin'  a  common  chap  like  me  couldn't 
see." 

She  drew  his  head  down  and  their  lips  met  in  a  long 
kiss.  As  he  raised  his  face  he  half-fancied  she  whis 
pered  some  word ;  but  he  could  not  catch  its  purport. 

He  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro.  After  a  time 
Desiree's  lashes  drooped.  Her  quick  breathing  grew 
slow  and  regular. 

"  I  didn't  think  —  anyone  could  —  be  so  — happy," 
she  murmured,  drowsily.  "  It's  sweet  to  —  to  rest  — 
in  your  arms." 

He  bent  to  kiss  her  on  the  forehead.     The  brow 


'  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  "      347 

that  had  been  so  hot  to  his  first  touch  was  cool  and 
moist. 

"  You're  better  already ! "  he  cried  in  delight. 
"  Say,  sweetheart,  I  got  an  idea.  Tomorrow  let's  get 
that  preacher  chap  to  marry  us.  Shan't  we  ?  Then  as 
soon  as  you  get  well  enough,  we'll  go  somewhere  for 
the  dandiest  weddin'  trip  on  record.  To  Yurrup,  if 
you  like.  Or  back  to  the  Antlers.  Or  anywhere  you 
say.  An'  I'll  buy  you  the  prettiest  clo'es  in  all  Noo 
York;  an'  you  can  get  a  whole  cartload  of  joolry,  if 
you  like.  I'd  pay  ev'ry  cent  I  got  in  the  world  to  keep 
that  wonderful,  happy  light  in  those  big  eyes  of  yours. 
Will  you  marry  me  tomorrow,  girl  ?  " 

Desiree  did  not  answer.  She  was  asleep.  On  tip 
toe,  Caleb  crossed  to  the  bed.  He  laid  her  down  upon 
it,  smoothing  the  hot  tumbled  pillows  with  his  un 
accustomed  hand.  Then  he  tiptoed  with  ponderous 
softness  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the  door  silently 
behind  him. 

"  Well !  "  he  exclaimed  gleefully,  addressing  Jack 
and  the  doctor  who  were  consulting  at  the  far  end  of 
the  next  room.  "  Guess  I  had  my  fright  for  nothin' ! 
She'll  get  on  fine.  She's  sound  asleep,  an'  her  fore 
head's  — " 

"  It  is  the  morphia  I  gave  her  to  deaden  the  pain," 
said  the  doctor.  "If  she  had  not  been  suffering  so 
terribly  it  would  have  taken  effect  before." 

"Morphia?  Sufferin'?"  repeated  Caleb.  "Why, 
she's  hardly  sufferin'  at  all.  Told  me  so,  herself. 
Look  here !  "  he  went  on,  bullyingly,  as  he  advanced 


348  THE  FIGHTER 

on  the  physician,  "  D'ye  mean  to  say  there's  a  chance 
she  won't  get  well?  " 

"  There  is  no  earthly  power,"  retorted  the  doctor, 
nettled  at  the  domineering  tone,  "  that  can  keep  her 
alive  ten  hours  longer." 

"You  lie!     Don't  I  know—  ?" 

"  I  cannot  thrash  you  in  the  anteroom  of  death," 
answered  the  doctor,  "  and  I  take  your  sorrow  into 
consideration.  But  what  I  just  said  is  true.  Miss 
Shevlin  has  sustained  internal  injuries  which  cannot 
but  prove  fatal.  Nothing  but  her  yearning  to  see  you 
again  has  kept  her  alive  as  long  as  this.  It  is  best  to 
be  frank." 

Caleb  was  eyeing  him  stupidly.  At  last  he  turned  to 
Jack. 

"  Did  you  send  those  tel'grams  ?  "  he  asked ;  and  his 
voice  was  dead. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Hawarden.  "  I  sent  them, 
but—" 

"  But  I  told  him  it  was  useless,"  put  in  the  doctor. 
"  There  is  not  a  fighting  chance.  She  will  not  come 
out  of  this  morphia  stupor.  The  moisture  on  her 
forehead  is  what  you  laymen  would  call  the  '  death- 
sweat.'  She  — " 

"You  lie!"  broke  forth  Caleb,  beside  himself. 
"  You  may  fool  women  and  children  by  your  damn 
profess'nal  airs,  but  it  don't  go  down  with  me.  I've 
seen  folks  die.  An'  they  ain't  sane  an'  cheerful  an' 
bright  like  Dey  Shevlin  was  just  now.  You  quacks 
make  a  livin'  by  throwin'  med'cines  you  don't  half  un- 


"  THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST  '       349 

derstand  into  systems  you  don't  understand  at  all.  As 
long'  it's  a  triflin'  case  of  mumps  or  headache,  you 
look  all-fired  wise  an'  write  out  p'scriptions  in  a  furren 
language  to  hide  your  ignor'nce.  But  when  anything's 
reely  the  matter  you're  as  helpless  as  a  drunken  long 
shoreman.  If  the  patient  dies  from  your  blunders  an' 
from  the  dope  you  throw  hap-hazard  into  him,  he 
'  hadn't  a  chance  from  the  start.'  If  he  gets  well  in 
spite  of  you,  it's  your  almighty  skill  that  '  pulled  him 
through.'  When  a  feller  gets  colic  an'  you  call  it 
appendicitis,  what  do  you  do  ?  You  don't  rest  till  you 
get  a  chance  to  stick  your  knives  into  him.  If  he  gets 
well,  it's  a  '  mir'cle  of  modern  surgery.'  If  he  croaks, 
the  *  op' ration  was  a  success,' —  only  the  patient  got 
peevish  an'  died.  There  never  yet  was  an  appendi 
citis  case  where  the  quack  in  charge  didn't  say  there'  a 
been  '  no  hope  if  the  op' ration  had  been  delayed  an 
other  two  hours.'  Oh,  you're  a  fine  lot  of  fakers  an' 
gold  brick  con  men,  you  doctors!  An'  now  you  say 
my  little  girl's  dyin'  !  God  damn  your  soul,  I  tell  you 
again  you  lie!" 

The  doctor  picked  up  his  black  bag  without  replying 
and  moved  toward  the  outer  door. 

"  Where  you  goin'  ?  "  demanded  Caleb. 

"  I'm  going  home,"  was  the  stiff  retort.  "  I  drop 
this  case.  I  do  not  care  to  be  associated  longer  with  a 
wild  beast  like  — " 

The  words  were  choked  in  his  mouth.  At  a  spring, 
Conover  had  cleared  the  space  between  them,  had 
caught  the  physician  by  the  throat  and  was  shaking  him 


350  THE  FIGHTER 

back  and  forth  with  jerks  that  threatened  to  snap  the 
victim's  spine.  Then  he  hurled  him  to  the  centre  of 
the  room  and  towered  over  him,  ablaze  with  fury. 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  wild  beast,  all  right ! "  he  snarled. 
"  An'  I'm  li'ble  to  become  a  hom'cidal  one  at  that. 
'  Drop  the  case,'  would  you  ?  Sneak  out  an'  leave  that 
poor  kid  in  there  to  lose  what  chance  she  might  have 
from  your  help?  Well,  Mr.  Doctor,  if  you  take  one 
step  out  into  that  hall,  the  next  step  you  take'll  be  in 
hell.  What's  more,  you'll  go  back  to  that  sick  room, 
right  now ;  an'  you'll  work  over  Miss  Shevlin  like  you 
never  worked  before.  If  I  catch  you  neglectin'  her  or 
tryin'  to  get  away, —  by  the  Eternal,  I'll  tear  you  in 
half  with  my  bare  hands !  Now  go !  Go  in  there !  " 

The  doctor,  his  rage  tempered  by  the  memory  of  the 
iron  fingers  on  his  windpipe,  glared  at  the  madman  in 
angry  irresolution.  Caleb's  muscles  tightened  omin 
ously.  The  physician  recoiled  a  step  in  most  unpro 
fessional  haste. 

"  You  are  a  dangerous  maniac !  "  he  said  somewhat 
unsteadily,  "  and  you  shall  go  to  prison  for  this  out 
rageous  assault.  For  the  present,  I  shall  remain  on 
the  case.  Not  because  of  your  threats,  but  from  com 
mon  humanity  toward — " 

"  Toward  yourself,"  finished  Caleb,  satisfied  that  he 
had  won  his  point.  "  An'  just  to  make  sure,  I'll  lock 
the  outer  door  of  this  suite  an'  pocket  the  key.  Now 
go  back  to  your  patient !  " 

Outside,  there  was  glaring,  heartless  sunshine.     In 


"THE  STRONG  ARM  OF  CHRIST"     351 

the  sick  room  stood  Caleb  and  Jack,  one  on  either  side 
of  the  bed  over  which  the  doctor  was  bending.  With 
closed  eyes,  Desiree  Shevlin  rested  where  Conover  had 
laid  her.  For  hours  she  had  lain  thus. 

"  I  can  do  no  more,"  pronounced  the  doctor,  rising 
and  meeting  Caleb's  glazed  eye.  "  The  end  may  come 
now  at  any  moment." 

The  Fighter,  his  every  faculty  drowned  in  the  hor 
rible  egotism  of  grief,  made  no  answer. 

"If  only  there  were  someone  to  pray!"  muttered 
Jack,  battling  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "  I  wish  Mr. 
Grant  was  — " 

"  Pray?  "  echoed  Caleb,  rousing  himself  and  clutch 
ing  at  the  faint  hope.  "  It  can't  do  any  harm.  Pray, 
man!  Pray!" 

"  I  —  I  can't!  "  babbled  the  boy.  "  I  don't  know 
how.  I  never  prayed  in  my  life.  I  — " 

"  Try  it !  "  groaned  Caleb.  "  Try  it,  I  say !  You 
may  have  beginner's  luck !  " 

"  No  use !  "  interposed  the  doctor.     "  It's  over." 

As  he  spoke,  Desiree  stirred  ever  so  slightly.  Her 
closed  eyes  opened.  She  seemed  to  settle  lower  in  the 
bed.  Then  she  lay  very  still. 

With  a  sobbing  cry  Jack  Hawarden  rushed  from 
the  room.  Conover  stood,  dumb,  petrified,  staring 
wildly  down  into  the  unseeing,  all-seeing  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   LAST   FIGHT 

Under  the  concentrated  anguish  of  Conover's  gaze 
the  girl's  long  lashes  seemed  to  flicker  ever  so  slightly. 
Through  the  Gethsemane  of  the  moment  the  impossible 
fancy  that  she  lived  pierced  Caleb's  numbed  brain; 
tearing  away  the  apathy  that  was  closing  over  him. 
All  at  once  he  was  again  the  Fighter, —  the  man  who 
could  not  know  defeat. 

"  She  is  alive !  "  he  persisted  as  the  physician  turned 
from  the  bed.  "  Look !  She  — " 

Dr.  Bond's  bearded  lip  curled  in  a  sad  derision  that 
woke  Caleb's  smouldering  antagonism  into  flame. 
With  a  sudden  insane  impulse  the  Fighter  knelt  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  and  caught  up  the  pitifully  still  little 
hands. 

"  Dey! "  he  cried,  his  great  rough  voice  echoing 
through  the  dreadful  hush  of  the  room. 

Bond  opened  his  mouth  to  protest ;  then  shrank  back 
to  the  wall,  staring  in  heavy  wonder. 

"  Dey!  "  called  the  Fighter  again,  an  agony  of  com 
mand  in  his  tone.  "Dey!  Come  back!" 

It  was  not  the  wail  of  a  weak  nature  vainly  sum 
moning  the  Lost  to  return.  Rather  it  was  the  sharp, 
fierce  call  of  the  officer  who  by  sheer  force  of  accepted 

352 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  353 

rulership  rallies  his  stricken  men.  Sublimely  imperi 
ous,  backed  by  a  will  of  chilled  steel  and  by  a  men 
tality  that  had  never  been  successfully  balked,  the 
Fighter's  voice  resounded  again  and  again  in  that 
harsh,  domineering  order : 

"Dey!     Comeback!" 

Calling  upon  his  seemingly  dead  love  to  re-enter  the 
frail  flesh  she  was  even  now  quitting,  Conover  threw 
into  his  appeal  all  the  vast  strength  that  was  his  and 
the  immeasurably  enforced  power  of  his  despair  and 
adoration.  He  held  the  white  hands  gripped  tight  to 
his  chest;  his  face  close  to  the  silent  girl's;  his  light 
eyes  blazing  into  hers;  his  every  faculty  bent  with 
superhuman  pressure  upon  drawing  an  answering  sign 
from  the  lifeless  form. 

"  It  is  madness !  "  muttered  the  doctor ;  infected 
nevertheless  by  the  dominant  magnetism  that  played 
about  the  Fighter  and  that  vibrated  through  every 
tone  of  his  imperative  voice.  "  It  is  madness.  She 
is  dead,  or — " 

Conover  did  not  heed  nor  hear.  He  had  no  con 
sciousness  for  anything  save  this  supreme  battle  of  his 
whole  life.  Vaguely  he  knew  that  the  innate  master 
ship  within  him  which  for  years  had  subdued  strong 
men  to  his  will  had  been  as  nothing  to  the  nameless 
power  that  love  was  now  enabling  him  to  put  forth. 

From  the  threshold  of  death, —  yes,  from  the  grave 
itself, —  she  should  come  at  his  call;  this  little,  silent 
wisp  of  humanity  that  meant  life  and  heaven  to  him. 

The  red  haired  man  was  fighting. 


354  THE  FIGHTER 

He  had  always  been  fighting.  But  the  fiercest  of  his 
campaigns  had  hitherto  been  as  child's  play  by  com 
parison  with  this  contest  with  the  Unknown.  Once 
again  he  was  "  taking  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  by  vio 
lence  !  "  This  time  literally. 

The  mad  whim  had  possessed  him  through  no  con 
scious  volition  of  his  own;  and  he  had  acted  upon  it 
without  reflection.  He  was  matching  his  mortal 
power  against  the  Infinite. 

He  was  doing  what  Science  knew  could  not  be  done ; 
what  the  most  hysterical  spiritualist  had  never  claimed 
power  to  achieve.  He  was  trying,  by  force  of  per 
sonality  and  sheer  desire,  to  check  the  flight  of  a  soul 
upon  the  Borderland. 

And  over  and  over  again  his  voice  swelled,  untiring, 
through  the  room,  in  that  one  all-compelling  demand : 
—  a  demand  that  held  no  note  of  entreaty,  nor  of 
aught  else  save  utter,  fierce  domination. 

"Dey!     Comeback!" 

The  doctor,  scared,  irresolute,  slipped  from  the 
room.  This  type  of  mania  was  outside  his  experience. 
In  time  it  would  wear  itself  out.  In  the  meanwhile, 
his  nerves  could  not  endure  the  sound  of  that  ceaseless 
calling;  the  sight  of  the  tense,  furiously  masterful 
face. 

It  was  two  hours  later  that  Dr.  Colfax,  the  first  of 
the  summoned  New  York  specialists,  arrived.  Jack 
Hawarden  met  him  at  the  entrance  of  the  hotel  and 
briefly  explained  the  case. 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  355 

"  I  wish,"  the  boy  added,  "  you  would  go  in  and  see 
what  you  can  do  for  Mr.  Conover.  I'm  afraid  he  has 
lost  his  mind.  I  looked  into  the  room  several  times 
and—" 

He  shuddered  at  the  picture  conjured  up.  His 
nerves  had  gone  to  pieces. 

"  It  was  terrible,"  he  went  on.  "  I  didn't  dare  in 
terrupt  him.  He  was  crouching  there,  holding  her 
close  to  him  and  looking  at  her  as  if  he'd  drag  her  spirit 
by  main  force  back  into  her  body.  And  all  the  time 
he  was  saying  over  and  over — " 

"  I  will  go  up,"  said  the  specialist,  cutting  in  on  the 
narrative.  "  Even  if  the  local  physician  did  not  com 
plete  a  full  examination  to  make  sure  she  was  dead, 
such  insane  treatment  would  destroy  any  chance  of 
life.  Show  me  the  way." 

Together  they  entered  the  sick-room.  Conover  had 
not  stirred.  Through  the  closed  door  they  had  heard 
the  hoarse  rumble  of  his  eternal  command :  — 

"  Dey!     Come  back!" 

Dr  Colfax  walked  briskly  across  to  the  bed. 

"  Here ! "  he  said,  addressing  Caleb  in  the  sharp 
tones  used  for  arousing  the  delirious.  "  This  won't 
do !  You  must  — " 

He  paused ;  his  first  idle  glance  at  Desiree's  pale  face 
changing  in  a  flash  to  one  of  keen  professional  inter 
est.  He  caught  one  of  her  wrists,  at  the  point  where 
it  was  engulfed  in  Caleb's  great  hand;  held  it  for  an 
instant;  then,  turning,  flung  open  his  black  medical 
case. 


356  THE  FIGHTER 

Jack,  who  had  lingered  at  the  door,  hurried  for 
ward  on  tiptoe. 

"You  don't  mean  —  ?"  he  whispered  quaveringly. 

"  The  local  physician  was  mistaken,"  returned  Dr. 
Col  fax  in  the  same  key.  "  Or  she  — "  he  hesitated. 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  cases,"  he  murmured,  in  won 
der.  "  But  I  only  know  of  two  that  are  authentic.  It 
is  more  probable  that  she  was  merely  in  a  collapse.  I 
can  inquire  later." 

While  he  talked,  he  had  been  selecting  and  filling  a 
hypodermic  needle.  Now,  stepping  past  Conover, 
who  had  not  noted  the  newcomers'  presence,  he  pressed 
the  needle-point  into  Desiree's  forearm. 

"You  really  think  then — ?"  cried  Jack. 

"  I  think  it  is  worth  a  fight ! "  snapped  the  doctor. 
"  Go  down  and  see  if  my  nurse  has  come.  I  left  her  at 
the  station.  She  could  not  walk  as  fast  as  I.  Go 
out  quietly.  This  man  doesn't  even  know  we  are  here, 
but  I  don't  want  to  take  any  chance  just  yet  of  break 
ing  his  '  influence/  Time  enough  for  that  when  the 
digitalis  begins  to  act." 

Caleb  Conover  stretched  himself  and  sat  up.  He 
felt  oddly  weak  and  depressed.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  was  tired  out. 

For  twenty  hours  he  had  slept.  The  afternoon  sun 
was  pouring  in  at  the  windows.  Caleb  glanced  stu 
pidly  about  him  and  recognized  the  anteroom  leading 
off  from  the  sick  chamber.  Vaguely  at  first,  then 
more  clearly,  he  recalled  that  someone  —  ever  and  ever 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  357 

so  long  ago  —  had  shaken  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
had  repeated  over  and  over  in  his  ears  "  She  is  alive! " 

Then,  at  last  the  iterated  words  of  command  that 
had  been  saying  themselves  through  his  own  lips  for 
three  hours  had  somehow  ceased,  and  something  in 
his  head  had  given  way.  He  had  lurched  into  the 
anteroom,  tumbled  over  on  a  sofa  and  had  fallen 
asleep  at  once  from  sheer  exhaustion.  And  Dey  —  ? 

Weakly  cursing  the  gross  selfishness  that  had  let 
him  sleep  like  a  log  while  DesireVs  life  had  hung  in 
the  balance  Conover  got  to  his  feet  and  made  for  the 
door  of  the  sick  room.  His  step  was  springless, 
clumping,  noisy.  Dr.  Colfax,  hearing  it,  came  out 
from  the  inner  room  to  meet  him.  Caleb  gazed  at  the 
man  with  dull  vacancy.  He  did  not  remember  having 
seen  him  before. 

"Miss  —  Miss  Shevlin?"  asked  Conover,  thickly; 
his  throat  agonizingly  raw  from  the  long  hours  of  tire 
less,  unremittent  calling. 

"  She  will  get  well,  I  think,"  answered  the  specialist. 
"  The  crisis  is  past.  The  spine  was  not  injured.  But 
convalescence  will  be  slow.  Nursing  is  the  only  thing 
left  to  do  now.  I  am  leaving  for  New  York  by  the 
six  o'clock  train." 

Caleb's  apathetic  look  slowly  changed  to  deep,  grow 
ing  wonder. 

"  I  think,"  went  on  Dr.  Colfax,  watching  Conover, 
narrowly,  "  it  may  be  barely  possible  that  you  can 
thank  yourself  for  her  recovery.  Perhaps  I  am  mis 
taken.  You  see  we  doctors  deal  with  facts.  But, 


358  THE  FIGHTER 

once  in  a  century  something  happens  outside  the  realm 
of  fact.  Mind  you,  I  don't  go  on  record  as  saying 
this  is  one  of  those  exceptions.  But  —  I  should  like 
to  ask  you  some  questions  when  you  are  rested  enough 
to—" 

"  By  and  by,"  assented  Caleb.  "  But  I'm  going  in 
there  to  see  Dey  now;  if  you  don't  mind.  Can  I?  " 

"  Yes.  She  has  been  asking  for  you.  Be  careful 
not  to  excite  her,  or  — " 

"  I'll  be  careful,"  promised  Caleb. 

Then,  with  a  sheepish  laugh,  he  added: 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't  make  me  put  up  a  fight  about 
goin'  in  to  see  her.  I  —  I  kind  of  feel  as  if  there 
wasn't  any  fight  left  in  me." 


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"  The  most  fascinating,  engrossing  and  picturesque  of  the  season's 
novels."— Boston  Herald.  "'Beverly'  is  altogether  charming— al 
most  living  flesh  and  blood." — Louisvillt  Times.  "Better  than 
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as  '  Graustark '  and  quite  as  entertaining." — Bookman.  "  A  charm 
ing  love  story  well  told."— Boston  Transcript, 

HALF  A  ROGUE.    By  Harold  MacGrath.     With  illustra 
tions  and  inlay  cover  picture  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
"  Here  are  dexterity  of  plot,  glancing  play  at  witty  talk,  characters 
really  human  and  humanly  real,  spirit  and  gladness,  freshness  and 
quick  movement.    '  Half  a  Rogue  '  is  as  brisk  as  a  horseback  ride  on 
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cess  and  all  the  great  things  worth  fighting  for  and  living  for  the  in 
volved  in  '  Half  a  Rogue.'  " — Phila.  Press. 

THE  GIRL  FROM  TIM'S  PLACE.     By  Charles  Clark 

Munn.  With  illustrations  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 
"  Figuring  in  the  pages  of  this  story  there  are  several  strong  char 
acters.  Typical  New  England  folk  and  an  especially  sturdy  one,  old 
Cy  Walker,  through  whose  instrumentality  Chip  comes  to  happiness 
and  fortune.  There  is  a  chain  of  comedy,  tragedy,  pathos  and  love, 
which  makes  a  dramatic  story." — Boston  Herald. 

THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE.   A  story  of  American  Life. 
By  Charles  Klein,  and  Arthur  Hornblow.      With  illustra 
tions  by  Stuart  Travis,  and  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
The  novel  duplicated  the  success  of  the  play;  in  fact  the  book  is 
greater  than  the  play.    A  portentous  clash  of  dominant  personalties 
that  form  the  essence  of  the  play  are  necessarily  touched  upon  but 
briefly  in  the  short  space  of  four  acts.      All  this  is  narrated  in  the 
novel  with  a  wealth  of  fascinating  and  absorbing  detail,  making  it  one 
of  the  most  powerfully  written  and  exciting  works  of  fiction  given  to 
the  world  in  years. 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE.    By  Myrtle  Reed. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  comer  of  New  England  where  bygone 
romance  finds  a  modern  parallel.  One  of  the  prettiest,  sweetest,  and 
quaintest  of  old-fashioned  love  stories  *  *  *  A  rare  book,  ex 
quisite  in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of  delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness, 
of  delightful  humor  and  spontaneity.  A  dainty  volume,  especially 
suitable  for  a  gift 

DOCTOR  LUKE  OF  THE   LABRADOR.     By  Norman 
Duncan.    With  a  frontispiece  and  inlay  cover. 

How  the  doctor  came  to  the  bleak  Labrador  coast  and  there  in  say 
ing  life  made  expiation.  In  dignity,  simplicity,  humor,  in  sympathetic 
etching  of  a  sturdy  fisher  people,  and  above  all  in  the  echoes  of  the 
sea,  Doctor  Luke  is  worthy  ot  great  praise.  Character,  humor,  poign 
ant  pathos,  and  the  sad  grotesque  conjunctions  of  old  and  new  civili 
zations  are  expressed  througn  the  medium  of  a  style  that  has  distinc 
tion  and  strikes  a  note  of  rare  personality. 

THE  DAY'S  WORK.    By  Rudyard  Kipling.    Illustrated. 

The  London  Morning  Post  says :  "  It  would  be  hard  to  find  better 
reading  *  *  *  the  book  is  so  varied,  so  full  of  color  and  life  from 
end  to  end,  that  few  who  read  the  first  two  or  three  stories  will  lay  it 
down  till  they  have  read  the  last — and  the  last  is  a  veritable  gem 

*  *    *    contains  some  of  the  best  of  his  highly  vivid  work    *    *    * 
Kipling  is  a  born  story-teller  and  a  man  of  humor  into  the  bargain. 

ELEANOR  LEE.    By  Margaret  E.  Sangster.     With  a  front 
ispiece. 

A  story  of  married  Me,  and  attractive  picture  of  wedded  bliss  *  * 
an  entertaining  story  or  a  man's  redemption  through  a  woman's  love 

*  *    *    no  one  who  knows  anything  of  marriage  or  parenthood  can 
read  this  story  with  eyes  that  are  always  dry    *    *    *    goes  straight 
to  the  heart  of  everyone  wh»  knows  the  meaning  or  "love  "and 
"  home." 

THE   COLONEL   OF  THE   RED  HUZZARS.     By  John 
Reed  Scott.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

"FuH  of  absorbing  charm,  sustained  interest,  and  a  wealth  of 
thrilling  and  romantic  situations.  "  So  naively  fresh  in  its  handling, 
so  plausible  through  its  naturalness,  that  it  comes  like  a  mountain 
breeze  across  the  far-spreading  desert  of  similar  romances." — Gazette- 
Times,  Pittsburg.  "  A  slap-dashing  day  romance."— New  York  Sun. 

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BARREL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES.       By  Irving  Bach- 

eller.    With  illustrations  by  Arthur  Keller. 
"Barrel,  the  clock  tinker,  is  a  wit,  philosopher,  and  man  of  mystery. 
Learned,  strong,  kindly,  dignified,  he  towers  like  a  giant  above  the 
people  among  whom  he  lives.      It  is  another  tale  of  the  North  Coun 
try,  full  of  the  odor  of  wood  and  field.    Wit,  humor,  pathos  and  high 
thinking  are  in  this  book." — Boston  Transcript. 
D'RI  AND  I :    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 
with  the  British.    Being  the  Memoirs  of  Colonel  Ramon 
Bell,  U.  S.  A.    By  Irving  Bacheller.    With  illustrations  by 
F.  C.  Yohn. 

"  Mr.  Bacheller  is  admirable  alike  in  his  scenes  of  peace  and  war. 
D'ri,  a  mighty  hunter,  has  the  same  dry  humor  as  Uncle  Eb.  He 
fights  magnificently  on  the  '  Lawrence,'  and  was  among  the  wounded 
when  Perry  went  to  the '  Niagara.'  As  a  romance  of  early  American 
history  it  is  great  for  the  enthusiasm  it  creates." — New  York  Times. 

EBEN  HOLDEN :  A  Tale  of  the  North  Country.    By  Irving 

Bacheller. 

"  As  pure  as  water  and  as  good  as  bread,"  says  Mr.  Howells.  "Read 
1  Eben  Holden  '  "  is  the  advice  of  Margaret  Sangster.  "  It  is  a  forest- 
scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing  and  wholly  American  story  of  country 
and  town  life.  *  *  *  If  in  the  far  future  our  successors  wish  to 
know  what  were  the  real  life  and  atmosphere  in  which  the  country 
folk  that  saved  this  nation  grew,  loved,  wrought  and  had  their  being, 
they  must  go  back  to  such  true  and  zestful  and  poetic  tales  of 'fiction' 
as  '  Eben  Holden,'  "  says  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 

SILAS  STRONG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods.  By  Irving  Bach 
eller.  With  a  frontispiece. 

"  A  modern  Leather-stocking:  Brings  the  city  dweller  the  aroma  of 
the  pine  and  the  music  of  the  wind  in  its  branches — an  epic  poem 
*  *  *  forest-scented,  fresh-aired,  and  wholly  American.  A  stronger 
character  than  Eben  Holden." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

VERGILIUS :  A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ.  By  Irving 
Bacheller. 

A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman  patricians  whose 
great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  leads  them  through 
the  momentous,  exciting  events  that  marked  the  year  just  preceding 
the  birth  of  Christ 

Splendid  character  studies  of  the  Emperor  Augustus,  of  Herod  and 
his  degenerate  son,  Antipater,  and  of  his  daughter  "the  incomparable" 
Salome.  A  great  triumph  in  the  art  of  historical  portrait  painting. 

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THE   FAIR   GOD  ;  OR,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  TZINS. 

By  Lew  Wallace.    With  illustrations  by  Eric  Pape. 

"The  story  tells  of  the  love  of  a  native  princess  for  Alvarado,  and  it 
is  worked  out  with  all  of  Wallace's  skill  *  *  *  it  gives  a  fine  pic 
ture  of  the  heroism  of  the  Spanish  conquerors  and  of  the  culture  and 
nobility  of  the  Aztecs." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"Ben  Hur  sold  enormously,  but  The  Fair  <70</was  the  best  of  the 
General's  stories — a  powerful  and  romantic  treatment  of  the  defeat  of 
Montezuma  by  Cortes." — Athenceum. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS.    By  Louis  Tracy. 

A  story  of  love  and  the  salt  sea — of  a  helpless  ship  whirled  into  the 
hands  of  cannibal  Fuegians— of  desperate  fighting  and  tender  romance, 
enhanced  by  the  art  of  a  master  of  story  telling  who  describes  with 
his  wonted  felicity  and  power  of  holding  the  reader's  attention  *  *  * 
filled  with  the  swing  of  adventure. 

A  MIDNIGHT  GUEST.    A  Detective  Story.   By  Fred  M. 
White.  With  a  frontispiece. 

The  scene  of  the  story  centers  in  London  and  Italy.  The  book  is 
skilfully  written  and  makes  one  of  the  most  baffling,  mystifying,  ex 
citing  detective  stories  ever  written— cleverly  keeping  the  suspense 
and  mystery  intact  until  the  surprising  discoveries  which  precede 
the  end. 

THE  HONOUR  OF  SAVELLI.  A  Romance.  By  S.  Levett 

Yeats.  With  cover  and  wrapper  in  four  colors. 
Those  who  enjoyed  Stanley  Weyman's  A  Gentleman  of  France 
will  be  engrossed  and  captivated  by  this  delightful  romance  of  Italian 
history.  It  is  replete  with  exciting  episodes,  hair-breath  escapes, 
magnificent  sword-play,  and  deals  with  the  agitating  times  in  Italian 
history  when  Alexander  II  was  Pope  and  the  famous  and  infamous 
Borgias  were  tottering  to  their  fall. 

SISTER  CARRIE.    By  Theodore  Drieser.    With  a  frontis 
piece,  and  wrapper  in  color.  " 
In  all  fiction  there  is  probably  no  more  graphic  and  poignant  study 
of  the  way  in  which  man  loses  his  grip  on  life,  lets  his  pride,  his  cour 
age,  his  self-respect  slip  from  him,  and,  finally,  even  ceases  to  struggle 
in  the  mire  that  has  engulfed  him.    *    *    *    There  is  more  tonic  val - 
ue  in  Sister  Carrie  than  in  a  whole  shelfful  of  sermons. 

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THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  INN.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

With  illustrations  by  Martin  Justice. 

"  As  superlatively  clever  in  the  writing  as  it  is  entertaining  in  the 
reading.  It  is  actual  comedy  of  the  most  artistic  sort,  and  it  is 
handled  with  a  freshness  and  originality  that  is  unquestionably 
novel." — Boston  Transcript.  "  A  feast  of  humor  and  good  cheer, 
yet  subtly  pervaded  by  special  shades  of  feeling,  fancy,  tenderness, 
or  whimsicality.  A  merry  thing  in  prose."— St.  Louis  Democrat, 

ROSE  0'  THE  RIVER.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin.    With 

illustrations  by  George  Wright. 

"  '  Rose  o'  the  River,'  a  charming  bit  of  sentiment,  gracefully 
written  and  deftly  touched  with  a  gentle  humor.  It  is  a  daintv  boot 
—daintily  illustrated."— New  York  Tribune.  "A  wholesome,  bright, 
refreshing  story,  an  ideal  book  to  give  a  young  girl."1 — Chicago 
Record-Herald.  "  An  idyllic  story,  replete  with  pathos  and  inimita 
ble  humor.  As  story-telling  it  is  perfection,  and  as  portrait-painting 
it  is  true  to  the  life,  — London  Mail. 

TILLIE :    A  Mennonite  Maid.    By  Helen  R.  Martin.    With 

illustrations  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

The  little  "  Mennonite  Maid  "  who  wanders  through  these  pages 
is  something  quite  new  in  fiction.  Tillie  is  hungry  for  books  and 
beauty  and  love ;  and  she  comes  into  her  inheritance  at  the  end. 
"  Tillie  is  faulty,  sensitive,  big-hearted,  eminently  human,  and  first, 
last  and  always  lovable.  Her  charm  glows  warmly,  the  story  is  well 
handled,  the  characters  skilfully  developed." — The  Book  Buyer. 

LADY  ROSE'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward. 

With  illustrations  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
•'The  most  marvellous  work  of  its  wonderful  author."— New  York 
World.  "We  touch  regions  and  attain  altitudes  which  it  is  not  given 
to  the  ordinary  novelist  even  to  approach.' ' — London  Times.  "  In 
no  other  story  has  Mrs.  Ward  approached  the  brilliancy  and  vivacity 
of  Lady  Rose's  Daughter." — North  American  Review. 

THE  BANKER  AND  THE  BEAR.  By  Henry  K.  Webster. 
"  An  exciting  and  absorbing  story." — New  York  Times.  "Intense 
ly  thrilling  in  parts,  but  an  unusually  good  story  all  through.  There 
is  a  love  affair  of  real  charm  and  most  novel  surroundings,  there  is  a 
run  on  the  bank  which  is  almost  worth  a  year's  growth,  and  there  is 
all  manner  of  exhilarating  men  and  deeds  which  should  bring  the 
book  into  high  and  permanent  favor." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

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BARBARA   WINSLOW,   REBEL.     By  Elizabeth  Ellis. 

With  illustrations  by  John  Rae,  and  colored  inlay  cover. 
The  following,  taken  from  story,  will  best  describe  the  heroine : 
A  TOAST:  "  To  the  bravest  comrade  hi  misfortune,  the  sweetest 
companion  in  peace  and  at  all  times  the  most  courageous  of  women." 
—Barbara  Winslow,  "  A  romantic  story,  buoyant,  eventful,  and  in 
matters  of  love  exactly  what  the  heart  could  desire."— New  York  Sun. 

SUSAN.    By  Ernest  Oldmeadow.    With  a  color  frontispiece 

by  Frank  Haviland.  Medal  ion  in  color  on  front  cover. 
Lord  Ruddington  falls  helplessly  in  love  with  Miss  Langley,  whom 
be  sees  in  one  of  her  walks  accompanied  by  her  maid,  Susan. 
Through  a  misapprehension  of  personalities  his  lordship  addresses 
a  love  missive  to  the  maid.  Susan  accepts  in  perfect  good  faith, 
and  an  epistolary  love-making  goes  on  till  they  are  disillusioned.  It 
naturally  makes  a  droll  and  delightful  little  comedy ;  and  is  a  story 
that  is  particularly  clever  in  the  telling. 

WHEN  PATTY  WENT  TO  COLLEGE.    By  Jean  Web- 

ster.  With  illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 
"The  book  is  a  treasure." — Chicago  Daily  News.  "Bright, 
whimsical,  and  thoroughly  entertaining." — Buffalo  Express.  "One 
of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  been  writ 
ten.'  ' — N.  Y.  Press.  "  To  any  woman  who  has  en  j  oyed  the  pleasures 
of  a  college'lif  e  this  book  cannot  fail  to  bring  back  many  sweet  recol 
lections  ;  and  to  those  who  have  not  been  to  college  the  wit,  lightness, 
and  charm  of  Patty  are  sure  to  be  no  less  delightful.  "—Public  Opinion. 

THE  MASQUERADER.     By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

With  illustrations  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
"  You  can't  drop  it  till  you  have  turned  the  last  page." — Cleveland 
Leader.  "  Its  very  audacity  of  motive,  of  execution,  of  solution,  al 
most  takes  one's  breath  away.  The  boldness  of  its  denouement 
is  sublime." — Boston  Transcript.  "  The  literary  hit  of  a  generation, 
The  best  of  it  is  the  story  deserves  all  its  success.  A  masterly  story." 
— St.  Louis  '-Dispatch.  "  The  story  is  ingeniously  told,  and  cleverly 
constructed."—  The  Dial. 

THE  GAMBLER.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston.     With 

illustrations  by  John  Campbell. 

"  Tells  of  a  high  strung  young  Irish  woman  who  has  a  passion  for 
gambling,  inherited  from  a  long  line  of  sporting  ancestors.  She  has 
a  high  sense  of  honor,  too,  and  that  causes  complications.  She  is  a 
very  human,  lovable  character,  and  love  saves  her." — N.  Y.  Times. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      -      NEW  YORK 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
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tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   THE  SERVICE.     By  Edith  Elmer 

Wood.  Witk  illustrations  by  Ruf  us  Zogbaum. 
The  standards  and  life  of  "  the  new  navy  "  are  breezily  set  forth 
with  a  genuine  ring  impossible  from  the  most  gifted  "outsider." 
"  The  story  of  the  destruction  of  the  *  Maine,'  and  of  the  Battle  of 
Manila,  are  very  dramatic.  The  author  is  the  daughter  of  one  naval 
officer  and  the  wife  of  another.  Naval  folks  will  find  much  to  inter 
est  them  in '  The  Spirit  of  the  Service.'  "—The  Book  Buyer. 

A  SPECTRE  OF  POWER.  By  Charles  Egbert  Craddock. 
Miss  Murfree  has  pictured  Tennessee  mountains  and  the  mountain 
people  in  striking  colors  and  with  dramatic  vividness,  but  goes  back 
to  the  time  of  the  struggles  of  the  French  and  English  in  the  early 
eighteenth  century  for  possession  of  the  Cherokee  territory.  The 
story  abounds  in  adventure,  mystery,  peril  and  suspense. 

THE  STORM  CENTRE.    By  Charles  Egbert  Craddock. 

A  war  story;  but  more  of  flirtation,  love  and  courtship  than  of 
fighting  or  history.  The  tale  is  thoroughly  readable  and  takes  its 
readers  again  into  golden  Tennessee,  into  the  atmosphere  which  has 
distinguished  all  of  Miss  Murfree 's  novels. 

THE  ADVENTURESS.  By  Coralie  Stanton.  With  coloi 
frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher,  and  attractive  inlay  cover 
in  colors. 

As  a  penalty  for  her  crimes,  her  evil  nature,  her  flint-like  callous 
ness,  her  more  than  inhuman  cruelty,  her  contempt  for  the  laws  of 
God  and  man,  she  was  condemned  to  bury  her  magnificent  personal 
ty,  her  transcendent  beauty,  her  superhuman  charms,  in  gilded 
obscurity  at  a  King's  left  hand.  A  powerful  story  powerfully  told. 

THE    GOLDEN    GREYHOUND.     A  Novel  by  Dwight 

Tilton.  With  illustrations  by  E.  Pollak. 
A  thoroughly  good  story  that  keeps  you  guessing  to  the  very  end, 
and  never  attempts  to  instruct  or  reform  you.  It  is  a  strictly  up-to- 
date  story  of  love  and  mystery  with  wireless  telegraphy  and  all  the 
modem  improvements.  The  events  nearly  all  take  place  on  a  big 
Atlantic  liner  and  the  romance  of  the  deep  is  skilfully  made  to  serve 
as  a  setting,  for  the  romance,  old  as  mankind,  yet  always  new,  in 
volving  our  hero. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  -  NEW  YORK 


BOOKS  ON  GARDENING  AND  FARMING 

THREE  ACRES  AND  LIBERTY.  By  Bolton  Hall. 
Shows  the  value  gained  by  intensive  culture.  Should  be 
in  the  hands  of  every  landholder.  Profusely  illustrated, 
lamo.  Cloth,  75  cents. 

Every  chapter  in  the  book  has  been  revised  by  a  specialist  Th 
author  clearly  brings  out  the  full  value  that  is  to  be  derived  from  in 
tensive  culture  and  intelligent  methods  given  to  small  land  holdings. 
Given  untrammelled  opportunity,  agriculture  will  not  only  care  well 
for  itself  and  for  those  intelligently  engaged  in  it,  but  it  will  give 
stability  to  all  other  industries  and  pursuits.  (From  the  Preface.) 
"  The  author  piles  fact  upon  authenticated  instance  and  successful 
experiment  upon  proved  example,  until  there  is  no  doubt  what  can 
be  done  withland  intensively  treated.  He  shows  where  the  land 
may  be  found,  what  kind  we  must  have,  what  it  will  cost,  and  what 
to  do  with  it.  It  is  seldom  we  find  so  much  enthusiasm  tempered 
by  so  much  experience  and  common  sense.  The  book  points  out  in 
a  practical  way  the  possiblities  of  a  very  small  farm  intensively  cul 
tivated.  It  embodies  the  results  of  actual  experience  and  it  is  in 
tended  to  be  workable  in  every  detail." — Providence  Journal. 

NEW  CREATIONS  IN  PLANT  LIFE.    By  W.  S.  Har- 

wood  and  Luther  Burbank.     An  Authoritative  Account 

of  the  Work  of   Luther   Burbank.     With  48   full-page 

half-tone  plates.     lamo.    Cloth,  75  cents. 

Mr.  Burbank  has  produced  more  new  forms  of  plant  life  than  any 

other  man  who  has  ever  lived.     These  have  been  either  for  the 

adornment  of  the  world,  such  as  new  and  improved  flowers,  or  for 

the  enrichment  of  the  world,  such  as  new  and  improved  fruits,  nuts, 

vegetables,  grasses,  trees  and  the  like.     This  volume  describes  his 

life  and  work  in  detail,  presenting  a  clear  statement  of  his  methods, 

showing  how  others  may  follow  the  same  lines,  and  introducing  much 

never  before  made  public.     "  Luther  Burbank  is  unquestionably  the 

greatest  student  of  human  life  and  philosophy  of  living  things  in 

America,  if  not  in  the  world." — S.  H.  Comings,  Cor.  Sec.  American 

League  of  Industrial  Education. 

A  WOMAN'S  HARDY  GARDEN.  By  Helena  Rutherfurd 
Ely.  Superbly  illustrated  with  49  full-page  halftone  en 
gravings  from  photographs  by  Prof.  C.  F.  Chandler. 
i2mo.  Cloth. 

"  Mrs.  Ely  is  the  wisest  and  most  winsome  teacher  of  the  fascinat 
ing  art  of  gardening  that  we  have  met  in  modern  print.  *  *  *  A 
book  to  be  welcomed  with  enthusiasm." — New  York  Tribune.  "Let 
us  sigh  with  gratitude  and  read  the  volume  with  delight.  For  here 
it  all  is :  What  we  should  plant,  and  when  we  shonld  plant  it ;  how 
to  care  for  it  after  it  is  planted  and  growing ;  what  to  do  if  it  does 
not  grow  and  blossom  ;  what  will  blossom,  and  when  it  will  blossom, 
and  what  the  blossom  will  be.  It  is  full  of  garden  lore ;  of  the  spirit 
of  happy  out-door  life.  A  good  and  wholesome  book.—  The  Dial. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  -  NEW  YORK 


NATURE      BOOKS 

With  Colored  Plates,  and  Photographs  from  Life. 

NATURE'S  GARDEN.  An  Aid  to  Knowledge  of 
Our  Wild  Flowers  and  Their  Insect  Visitors.  24  col 
ored  plates,  and  many  other  illustrations  photographed 
directly  from  nature.  Text  by  Neltje  Blanchan. 
Large  Quarto,  size  7^x10^,  Cloth.  Formerly  pub 
lished  at  $3.00  net.  Our  special  price,  $1.25. 

Suberb  color  portraits  of  many  familiar  flowers  in 
their  living  tints,  and  no  less  beautiful  pictures  in 
black  and  white  of  others — each  blossom  photo 
graphed  directly  from  nature — form  an  unrivaled 
series.  By  their  aid  alone  the  novice  can  name  the 
flowers  met  afield. 

Intimate  life-histories  of  over  five  hundred  species 
of  wild  flowers,  written  in  untechnical,  vivid  lan 
guage,  emphasize  the  marvelously  interesting  and 
vital  relationship  existing  between  these  flowers  and 
the  special  insect  to  which  each  is  adapted. 

The  flowers  are  divided  into  five  color  groups,  be 
cause  by  this  arrangement  any  one  with  no  knowl 
edge  of  botany  whatever  can  readily  identify  the 
specimens  met  during  a  walk.  The  various  popular 
names  by  which  each  species  is  known,  its  preferred 
dwelling-place,  months  of  blooming  and  geographical 
distribution  follow  its  description.  Lists  of  berry- 
bearing  and  other  plants  most  conspicuous  after  the 
flowering  season,  of  such  as  grow  together  in  differ 
ent  kinds  of  soil,  and  finally  of  family  groups  ar 
ranged  by  that  method  of  scientific  classification 
adopted  by  the  International  Botanical  Congress 
which  has  now  superseded  all  others,  combine  to 
make  "Nature's  Garden"  an  indispensable  guide. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  -  NEW  YORK 


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